Page 136 of Seeking Shadows

"Exactly." I look at him like it’s obvious. "And my coordination is perfect, look."

I toss the apple in my hand into the air and throw my knife into the center, giving him a smile.

"Now that we’ve got that out of the way, teach me?"

He stares at me for a moment, probably assessing whether he has the energy to deal with me today. Finally, he picks up another apple and begins to twirl it casually in his fingers.

"Your jealous husband will kill me for being too close to you."

I laugh, stealing the apple from his hand. "He’s going to have to deal with it because I’m around whoever I want."

"Hm. Brave." Tristan raises an eyebrow, picking up another apple.

"Zane will get over this!"

"I disagree."

"Oh, shut up and teach me already!"

He sighs but stands up and begins to demonstrate the movement. The apples spin in the air with absurd fluidity, as if he was born doing it. I watch, fascinated.

"If I learn this, can I join your secret society?"

“You’re already part of it, have you forgotten?”

“But I don’t want the boring part, I like the circus.”

"You’d make a good knife juggler," he muses.

"I agree!"

It’s a shame I could never join that life. Not that I want to stay in the circus.

At this point, I don’t really know what I would be if I were free. Maybe I’d travel the world with Zane again; it was so much fun. Maybe we would explore more places. Maybe I would do that if I were free.

But I’m not.

It’s not something I can allow myself to dream too much about.

He throws an apple at me. I try to catch it and miss badly, nearly spilling my coffee in the process. Tristan shakes his head, laughing.

"This is going to be a disaster."

"A glorious disaster, Tristan."

For a while, I just have fun trying—and failing miserably—to do the moves Tristan shows me. He throws the apples in the air with such ease that it makes me want to punch him, but deep down, I’m loving it.

It’s nice to have a moment like that, something silly, without having to think too much.

But then, in the midst of a particularly catastrophic juggling attempt, I remember Olga.

“Where the hell did she go?”

The question bothers me more than it should. Olga is always around, complaining about something, grumbling that I’m too noisy, too chaotic, too lively. And now, out of nowhere, she’s disappeared.

"Why has no one mentioned this before?"

My chest tightens.

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