Page 7 of Forging Darkness

“Or maybe Izzy?”

I crack my neck. All right, we get it. Steel has a million female friends who are Keepers.

“I’m in!” Sterling announces. He holds his fist up and waits for his brother to tap it.

“You’re getting faster.”

“Practice makes perfect. Now, let me work my own brand of magic.”

It takes Sterling thirty minutes to finally admit he can’t hack his way into locating Steel.

“If we’re going to track him through his janky cell phone, I’m going to need access to Emberly’s phone while Steel is on it. At least two minutes of talk time,” he explains.

“Which means we can’t just keep the cell phone with us. If we pick it up, he’ll hang up right away,” Greyson adds, running a hand along his jaw. “You’re just going to have to stick close to Emberly.”

“How is that going to work?” I ask. “Steel always calls at inconvenient hours. I’ll most likely be in my room—and sleeping—when or if he calls again.”

“Isn’t it obvious,” Nova pipes in with an amused gleam in her eye. “Sterling is going to have to sleep in your room.”

There’s a strangled sound, and I tilt my head to see Ash choking on air. She holds a finger up while she regains control of her breathing. “That—” Cough. “Presents a bit of a problem.”

“Don’t worry. I don’t snore,” Sterling announces. “I’ll even wear clothes at night if that’ll make you feel better.”

There’s nothing to do but shake my head.

“You’re not allowed to spend the night in our room.”

“It’s not like I’m going to announce it. And besides, it’s only going to be until Steel calls again. How many nights could that really be?”

Chapter Three

It’s a miracle.

A single trickle of sweat treks down the side of Deacon’s face. Hugging his brow, it slips to his chin before dropping to the ground.

“Victory!” I punch the air and wiggle my legs in an imitation of a bad end-zone dance.

“What is happening right now?”

Deacon’s face looks . . . well . . . pretty much like it always does: devoid of emotion. The slight arch to his left eyebrow is the only indication of confusion.

Since Steel’s departure, Deacon has taken his place as my sparring partner. I always limp away from our sessions a hot sweaty mess, while Deacon remains fresh as a daisy. I’d resent him for that if I didn’t like him so much.

“Dude, you are perspiring.” I point to his forehead with both index fingers, still shimmying my shoulders. Sleep deprivation makes me a tad slap happy, so I can’t seem to stop wiggling. Sterling totally lied about not being a snorer. “I did that. I finally made you work up a sweat.”

A slight shine glosses his hairline. Lifting his forearm, he swipes it across his temple.

“This isn’t sweating. I prefer to think of it as a healthy glow.” His words are dry enough to mask sarcasm as sincerity, but I know better.

“Admit it,” I demand. “I’m getting better.”

“I never denied it. Of course you’re improving. I am, after all, your teacher. I wouldn’t waste my time otherwise.”

“Did you just call me a waste of your time?”

“No, Emberly. I said that if you weren’t improving,thatwould be a waste of my time.”

I knew perfectly well what he meant, but I get a kick out of listening to him calmly explain himself.

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