Page 102 of A Sin So Pure

Silas hums over his tea. “That’s very insightful, Robs.”

“So, that’s all? I remind you of yourself?”

“Unfortunately.”

I mash my lips together, forming a tight-lipped smile to hold back my laughter. It’s such a silly reason, but it gives me the sudden urge to mess with him.

“Well, I don’t like you because you always have a frown on your face,” I say, leaning forward. “And you seem like a big stick-in-the-mud.”

Wrath frowns, deep lines marring each side of his mouth. Silas cackles, loud and uncontrolled. He gets the joke. Wrath doesn’t.

“I don’t frown that much,” Wrath says.

“Yes, you do,” Silas and I both say at the same time.

“And I can be fun!”

“He can be,” Silas says. “He wasn’t always so grumpy and responsible.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” I say.

“Don’t tease him with a good time,” Wrath groans, head hitting the table again. At this rate, he’s going to have a bruise blooming on his forehead. “The man loves a challenge.”

Silas and I share a conspiratorial look, finding a strange kind of common ground in teasing Wrath.

“Unfortunately, Wrath,” I say. “So do I.”

“Here,” Silas says, pushing the bottle of whiskey towards me. “You need to catch up. I have an idea.”

We come to a stop at a large metal door, so simple compared to the intricately carved wooden ones around the rest of Mt. Bramble. The hinges squeak as Silas opens it, and freezing midnight air rushes past us, ruffling our hair.

He swings his arm out to let Wrath and me pass; I take a tentative step out and the boots I had grabbed from my room crunch on a dusting of snow. I tug my long wool coat tighter over my pajamas, thankful for the whiskey flush providing me an extra layer of warmth underneath it. The air is sharp and dry, and my tongue darts out to lick my lips against the chill.

It’s dark, but the stars and moon are bright, casting us in soft, cool-toned light.

The door swings shut behind us, the boom of metal-on-metal echoes in the small valley we stand in. On either side, jagged rock juts up into the mountainside. It’s a long, natural alleyway with snow-covered targets set up along the length of the gorge.

It’s a makeshift target range.

“Isthiswhen you kill me?” I ask, turning to Silas.

He barks a laugh, making his way to an overhang against the back wall of our little carved-out spot in the mountainside. Shadows curl in his hand, forming a key that he uses to unlock a tall and thin cabinet.

“You’re known to be a good shot,” he says.

“Yes.” I stretch out the word with suspicion. “And?”

He pulls out two rifles, a wild grin stretched over his teeth as he holds them up.

“I’d like to make a bet,” he says.

“A bet,” I scoff, peering up at the mountains around us.

Wrath groans, raising his hand like a grade-school student. “Can I not participate? I want to go sleep.”

“No, you having fun is the whole point,” Silas says. “You and me versus Nora. The loser has to make the rest of us dinner tomorrow.”

“What’s the point of having a cook if you’re just going to do it yourself?” I ask.

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