Page 95 of Switching Graves

Too young to go through what they did.

“There’s nowhere for me to go out west,” Finley spits.

“I’ll go with you. We’ll get you settled in Infinity Heights. My mum knows a woman who takes in lost kids. We’ll find some work for you to earn your keep.”

Finley scowls at that. “I’ve alreadyearned my keephere, Lewis.” He points in my direction, and I jump at the possibility that they can see me. But he continues talking, proudly straightening his shoulders as he says, “My father built this town with his own two hands, and they betrayed him. They need to pay for that.”

I take a tentative step toward them, not entirely convinced that they can’t see me. When neither reacts to the leaves crunching beneath my feet, I move closer and examine both of their features.

Small freckles splatter across Lewis’s nose, giving him a boyish charm.

And Finley . . . I’m shocked to find his eyes are the same brilliant violet color as mine. My mother always said it was a rare gene. One that was passed through our generations.

Could this be evidence that she was somehow related to Finley Landry?

ThatI’mrelated to the Landrys?

If so, that would make this whole thing entirely more complicated.

Lewis drops his head, clearly exasperated. “You keep going on about it, but we can’t do anything about what has been done in the past. We need to get you somewhere safe before the same fate befalls you.”

Finley narrows his eyes. “Why have you taken such an interest in what I do, anyway?”

“I told you, I cared for your sister.” Lewis’s back straightens, his shoulders tense as he grabs up a fallen twig and mindlessly pokes at a pile of leaves.

“Please,” Finley scoffs, his nose scrunching in irritation. “A little schoolboy crush isn’t worth risking the wrath of the Syndicate.”

Shrugging, Lewis keeps his gaze fixed on the ground. “Sure, it is.”

Finley considers him for a moment, his eyes bouncing around his friend’s features. After a few beats of silence, he crosses his arms and kicks his feet out before him. “Tell me the truth, Lewis, or I’ll stay in Nocturne Valley until they drag me out in a casket.”

Lewis lifts his gaze and blinks at him for a moment, probably realizing that the young boy is stubborn enough to do it, too. When enough time has passed that I’m sure he’ll refuse to elaborate, he blows out an irritated puff of air.

“She was carrying my child,” he admits in a low, sad voice, as if he can hardly believe it himself.

Finley’s eyes go wide and my vision blurs again, yanking me out of the memory.

I never see his reaction.

Blinking rapidly, the empty woods come back into view and I’m alone again. I try to take a step forward, but the tonic has my legs feeling unsteady, so I reach out for the next tree for support.

Three more trees aid me in my hike before my vision blurs again and another memory floods into my mind.

Lewis and Finley are fighting.

No, they’re sparring.

The fogginess clears to reveal the boys in leather jackets with fur hats on their heads. Each breath they take comes out in a plume of white, indicating that the temperature has dropped. I can’t feel the cold, though. My limbs are already numb.

Finley has grown an inch or two taller, leaving him with the typical long, spindly limbs you see in pubescent boys. His face has hollowed out from an obvious lack of nutrition, given what I know from his journals. Clearly, he won the argument about leaving, but it has cost him.

Lewis looks stronger and more handsome. On the tail end of the transition from young boy to a man, his arms have filled out and his jawline appears more squared. I feel so sad for him, now that I know all that he’s lost.

His grief had to have been unimaginable.

“You need to tighten up your left side, or your opponent will recognize the weakness immediately and exploit it,” Lewis lectures.

Finley rolls his eyes, as if he’s sick of hearing it, but squares off his stance and nods for Lewis to come at him again. This time, he blocks a blow to his left side, smiling when Lewis praises him.

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