Page 159 of The Truths We Burn

But I’m not shocked. Everyone has their foot in something immoral. This town is drowning in it.

“Don’t look down on me for shit you can’t comprehend, boy.”

The back door cracks open quietly, and I can see it out of the corner of my eye. I’d never been the damsel in distress, and I had never needed rescuing, but I’m not opposed to a little help at this moment.

“You’re right. I can’t comprehend how a man with a family would throw of it away for what, some quick dirty cash? Who seems like the boy now?”

“It’s much more than that. You haven’t even touched the surface of how far the Halo runs or who it has its claws dug inside of. Even if you could find a way out of this, they won’t stop till you are all dead. They know you. They know your names. Your families, your life. I’m doing you a favor here,” He laughs, “Ending it here and now, before people much scarier than me come hunting you down.”

“This isn’t going to end the way you think it will,” I tell him, holding my arm around Silas to prevent him from moving anywhere.

“Yeah? Who seems in more control here?” He scoffs, choking Thatch a little tighter, causing my friend to slit his eyes threateningly, tired of having someone he doesn’t know touch him. “The fed whose partner was killed by a group of college kids on a rampage? Or the decorated officer trying to protect the town mayor?”

Bad things happen when angry people are left to grieve. Even worse things accrue when good people are forced to protect the ones they care for.

“My money is on the girl with the knife.”

Lyra sends the silver edge of the blade into the side of Finn’s neck, sinking into the vein like she’s slicing through a ripened fruit. The blood loss is immediate. It spurts from the open wound when she yanks it from the hole.

Scarlet liquid that reeks of metal cascades across Thatcher’s shoulder, pouring down the front of his shirt like a rushing waterfall. There is a wild look in his eye, one I’ve never seen before as he watches it drip down him, slipping down the collar of his shirt.

Lyra’s hand is steady as she drops the knife to the floor. There is no fear or panic on her face; she looks like she always does—passive and unbothered by what’s going on in the world. Blood coats her tiny pale hand, and instead of looking to the man she’d just killed as he falls to the ground,she simply steps back, letting his body slug to the floor, and stays fixated on Thatcher. Her gaze never moves from him, not even for a second.

“This was a new shirt,” he breathes, his chest heaving as he turns around to look at her, a dead body the only thing between them.

“It was ugly. The blood made it look better,” she says, lifting her sunken eyes up to him. With her bloody hand and the purple bags beneath her eyes from the lack of sleep, she reminds me of a Tim Burton character—frizzy hair, eyes too big for her face, pasty skin.

“Is he dead?” I hear come from the kitchen, and it only takes her voice for me to turn all my attention in her direction.

I never believed in Heaven or Hell.

Fate or destiny.

I never stood outside and wished on falling stars.

No, I never believed in anything like that, but I do believe in her.

“Is my dad dead?” she breathes, her eyes dancing with innocent little demons, and I’d never seen chaos in such a beautiful state.

Such a striking shade of blue, tangled with the fire I love to play with.

Is it fate? Is it destiny?

That as a boy, even before the death of my mother, I would sit for hours staring into open flames, refusing to pull my eyes away from it. Too consumed, too enthralled with the way the smoke sang in swirls and the embers stung my skin.

And those same flames dance in the corners of her eyes. So hot, so fucking blue, and I want to roast alive inside of them.

Maybe I’d always seen her inside the fire.

Or maybe I’d just been born in the blaze.

“Not yet,” Thatcher says. “We need to get this cleaned up, Rook,”

“Get Silas, go with Lyra, and get the fuck out of here. When the police show up, I can’t have you covered in blood,” I say, moving towards Sage.

“What are you going to do?”

“Whatever needs to be done. I just need you out of here before that happens.”

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