Page 142 of 10 Days to Ruin

He holds up a hand. “That’s why you became a reporter, right? You wanted to tell stories.”

“I… Yes.”

He regards me calmly, coolly. “Do you think that you have to havethatjob to tell stories?”

I frown. “I… Uh… I mean, it sort of depends on?—”

But Sasha is shaking his head. “Wrong. All you need to tell stories is a story to tell, little bird. So fuck your editor. Fuck theGazette.Tell any story you like. He didn’t fire you, Ariel—he freed you.”

I’m stunned into silence. Is he right?

For fifteen years, my whole identity has been built around ink-stained hands and press badges—a desperate hedge against the Makris blood in my veins. But Sasha’s right. Stories don’t require permission slips. Mama spun them from nothing but a stranger’s face.

Truth doesn’t need a byline. It only needs a teller.

“But just in case you’re still feeling a little short on tools,” Sasha says, “this might help.”

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a simple brass key, then hands it to me.

I hold it up to the light. It’s simple, completely unadorned of anything that might give any indication as to what the hell it’s for. “Am I supposed to guess, or…?”

He laughs. “The Patriot Pressis yours.”

I blink. And blink. And blink again.

Then: “Huh?”

Sasha rises, grinning from ear to ear like he’s in on a joke that hasn’t quite clicked for me yet. “You’re a reporter. So go report. Expose whatever you want. Print whatever you want.ThePatriot Pressis yours, Ariel. Burn it down if you want, or build it into something that doesn’t make you hate yourself in the morning.”

I feel woozy. “You’re… giving me a newspaper.”

He nods. “I am.”

“The one thatslanderedus.”

“Yes.” His mouth quirks. “It’s poetic, no?”

I laugh—a hysterical sound. “You can’t just buy my integrity back!”

“Integrity isn’t a location, Ariel. It’s not a byline or a business card.” He steps closer, until our breaths tangle. “You think I don’t see it? The fire in you? The need to rip the world open and make it account for itself?” His palm slides down to press over my racing heart. “That’s not the Gazette. That’s you.And I’d take a crowbar to every printing press in this city before I let them extinguish that flame.”

I’m seated, but I still feel unstable enough that I’m worried about falling. Sasha sinks back to his knees in front of me and touches my hips. “I’m scared,” I tell him.

“Good. That means you’re on the right path.”

“What if I fail?”

“You won’t.”

“What if I?—?”

He silences me with a kiss. Not the hungry, devouring kind from the dressing room or the library. This is slow. Deliberate. A vote of confidence etched in heat and teeth.

When he pulls back, his forehead rests against mine. “You’ll rage. You’ll fight. You’ll drag truth kicking and screaming into the light. And when the world pushes?” His hand slides into my hair, tilting my gaze up. “We’ll push back harder.”

The last thread of resistance snaps. I fist his shirt, pulling him down as I arch up. The kiss turns filthy, and I’m ready to follow it to its inevitable conclusion.

But before I can, he stands. “Come on. Let’s go check out your new kingdom.”

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