Page 39 of A Sin So Pure

“What we saw is too similar for it not to be.”

A beat passes between us as we pull to a stop in front of our building. The valet waits patiently outside my door, but I don’t get out of the vehicle, leaving it running.

I think the stakes of it all hit us both at the same time.

“We need to be careful with how we handle this,” Josie says.

“I know.”

“Youneed to be careful.”

“I know.”

“So, where do you want to go from here?”

I start packing away my own doubts. Compartmentalization is a skill I learned early on. Unfortunately, emotional regulation didn’t click as easily.

As I have proven many times over today.

“First, I want all families stationed human-side moved back to Anwynn.”

“What? That’ll push back the timeline on our new shipments by?—”

“That was an order, not a suggestion,” I cut her off. “You asked me to think and act rationally. I will not needlessly risk more lives until we know more about the situation.”

I’m not an empath, but I can feel the subtle approval radiating off her.

“Okay,” Josie says. “I’ll handle that transition personally. They won’t be happy, though.”

“I’d rather they be pissed at me than dead.”

We get out of the car, slamming the doors shut and tossing the keys to the valet.

“And we’re still paying Jamison a visit,” I add as I hold the building door open for Josie. “Someone needs to pay for the lives lost, and I think he needs a reminder that Sins are scarier than Virtues.”

I can’t sleep.

My dreams are plagued with memories I’d long since banished but can’t fully exorcize from my consciousness.

Nothing some tea and a cigarette can’t fix.

I’m nursing a Black Cat, the tobacco a bitter companion on my tongue as I wait for the kettle to boil, when Josie shuffles into our shared kitchen.

We each claimed half of the penthouse suite in one of the apartment buildings our House owns. The kitchen and diningroom split the floor, giving us both a neutral ground to coexist and privacy when we need it.

“Can’t sleep?” I ask.

She rubs at her eyes before waving at her head.

“Migraine,” she says.

I hum. Josie gets them often. A side effect of always having to engage with her magic—otherwise, she’d be bombarded by a constant stream of people’s thoughts.

“I’ll make you a cup, then.”

I pull an extra mug from the pantry, along with the bag of loose-leaf tea. The kettle whistles, and I pull it from the burner, clicking the flame off. I throw the portioned bag into the pot to let it steep and bum out my cigarette. The blackberry aroma quickly overtakes the room.

“Areyouokay?” Josie asks. She’s taken up her usual spot in our breakfast nook, plump cheek balanced on her hand.

---