Page 65 of Angel Lost

My fists clench. It takes all my strength not to deck the sneaky fae bastard right then and there. That’s my sister. And she’s still lost.

Of course, he’s right. There’s nothing more to find. After hours at the spot Lottie and her stupid tweeny-bopper crew vanished, I finally give in.

In Farrell’s mansion, I pace the worn parquet floors of the drawing room, where hundreds of boots have left their mark before mine. The place was clearly built for wealth, power—control. And until recently, I guess it had all of that. But without the Virrey and his dirty money, the cracks are showing. The chandelier overhead is missing half its crystals, leaving dark gaps where light should scatter and dance across the walls. A side table stands bare, faint outlines in the dust marking where expensive trinkets used to sit.

“What now?” Lorelei asks. Of course she’d be the one to press.

I stop, pivoting to face her. “We keep looking.”

She doesn’t so much as flinch. “Should we go back to Maverik turf?”

“We’ve already turned it upside down. Plus, it’s dangerous. For both Farrell and you.”

Lorelei tuts, like she didn’t get shot in the shoulder bymi tiojust hours ago. She shifts her weight, clearly unimpressed, then looks to Farrell. “Can the rebels help?”

He sinks into an ornate chair near the fireplace, the dragon carvings twisting up the arms and into the high, regal headrest. The upholstery is still rich, but the seams are starting to fray.

“We’re thin on the ground, Lorelei.” He presses his fingers together, expression tight. “With the Angel King’s patrols, demonic creatures, even just keeping our people fed…” His gaze flicks to me. “But I’ll make sure the patrols report anything relevant. Maybe get them to share directly with Alairik?”

Lorelei drums her fingers against the side table, sending dust into the air. “Not good enough. You need to draft in more people.”

Farrell’s head whips to her, teeth clenched. “We can’t, Lorelei.” His voice is softer than I expected. “Too many supes in one place and the angels start asking questions.”

She opens her mouth to argue, but I grip her shoulder. “It’s bad, huh?”

Farrell exhales, meeting my eyes, relieved.

Scrubbing my face, I take him in. Really look at my allegiance. He’s tired. Bags under his eyes, sallow skin kind of tired. With the rip, with Lottie, I didn’t see it.

“Don’t change anything,” I tell him. “Patrols, numbers—keep it the same. Just get them to report to us. Those kids don’t want to be found. This was Lottie’s plan. If she’s alive, I swear to Hades, when we find her, I’m going to kill her myself.”

Lorelei allows herself a small smile, turning from Farrell. He almost reaches for her, then stops, lets his hand drop. Those two…Shadowboxing with the truth. Two magnets fighting the pull.

I’ll deal with their lovesick puppy bullshit later. If Lorelei lets me.

“We go back to the academy,” I decide. “We’ve got nothing. And they’re just kids—they won’t last long without money. They’ll slip up. We can’t let the Maveriks or the rebellion come undone over my stupid sister.”

The others protest, loud and instant.

“If we all get expelled and then she strolls in from a two-week beach break…” I scowl, unease curling in my gut.

Lorelei bites her lip. “You know that’s not what’s happening, Chano.”

“Yeah. But it was planned. They meant to meet the angels. Now, we wait. For them to show up or screw up.”

“Or for someone else to find them first…” Zephyr mutters.

I swear to Hades, one of these days I won’t hold back from murdering that angel. Even the goddess-damned fae has grown on me faster than him.

Chapter Twenty-one: Lorelei

I scrape my fingernail absently along the hard wooden bench outside the dean’s office. My whole allegiance sits with me, but the weight in my stomach is mine alone.Why are we here?

Risking a glance at Farrell, I catch his eye and open my mouth. But he shakes his head, nodding to the lingering secretary, to the hada. He’s armed. A telltale bulge at his waist, a potions bottle sticking out of a pocket. Feigning a yawn, I stretch and peek at Chano. The same. They don't even know the whole story and they're still worried. Naeve’s dagger sits heavy in my jacket.

The door to the dean’s room looms, sleek and reinforced, a new security shutter folded neatly above it. Everything’s different. The whole place. Like we’ve stepped into someone else’s world.

“Enter,” the dean calls.

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