Page 84 of Splitting Secrets
Someone else is holding my hand. Their skin feels different than Poppy’s had—drier and rougher. It dwarfs mine in a way that hers never could.
Sorrow cuts through me, so deep I’m sure it’s going to rip apart my chest and obliterate my heart.
My ears begin to pick up random noises. Feet pacing. Hushed whispers. A ticking clock.
All of it blends into one overstimulating hell. One that makes me want to disappear back into the darkness, to my safe space.
But something is preventing me from going back. A small thread that’s holding me in place. No, it’s tugging me upward.
When I succumb to the idea that resistance is futile, I open my eyes to find two dark orbs staring back at me from a handsome face.
“There you are,” he breathes the words out in relief.
And then chaos breaks out around us.
44
Sonny
Finley has visited me almost every night since I’ve woken up. He claims it’s to check on me, but I think he really just enjoys staying close so he doesn’t miss a single update about the Midnight Syndicate. Not that we receive many updates from the rebellion to begin with.
If they were being secretive before, it’s only gotten worse since they’ve deemed me too fragile to handle knowing anything. I can’t stand how infantile it makes me feel, stuck in this house while everyone else gets to move freely.
“You need rest,” Finley reminds me, reading my thoughts. He’s lounging on the end of my bed, thumbing through the packet Ava smuggled into my room a couple of hours ago. It’s an outline of the plans for the Midnight Syndicate from their most recent meeting.
I haven’t had a moment of peace since Raze woke me up. No one wants to leave me alone for fear that I’ll fall back into the purgatory of my own mind and pull them down with me.
Ava, Beatrix, and Jonah explained what it was like with a faraway look in their eyes—soldiers recounting a war.
My breakdown created a tsunami of emotions to flow through the house, taking them down with me. They think it has something to do with the Landry bloodline. Like, I was somehow able to project my own gifts onto them, giving them the ability to feel my agony, and therefore forcing them into an emotional stranglehold.
It was a terrifying, torturous experience for everyone. And the only person who could pull me out of it was Raze. The same man who has been conveniently absent since I opened my eyes, sat up in the bed, and sobbed.
I remember seeing Poppy there, in the recess of my mind. I wanted so badly at that moment to stay there with her forever. Being in her presence healed a wound inside of me that’s been bleeding since the day I found out she was gone. Probably sooner, if I really think about it.
Now, I realize how impractical that was, but no one believes me when I promise it won’t happen again.
Lola noses her way through the crack in my door, helping herself onto my bed and falling into my lap. I rub her head and peek over Finley’s shoulder, trying to get a good look at the packet. As soon as Ava brought it in, he stole it from my hands and hasn’t let me have it since.
“How am I going to know what’s going on if you won’t let me read that?”
He shushes me. “They’ve been working on their approach for years, it seems. Just waited for the perfect moment to strike. They activated their first attack on the night you were captured, then have continued every day since.”
“How is that possible? Nothing has even been happening,” I dismiss.
“It’s small things,” he explains, lifting his eyes to stare at me like I’m dense. “Tiny erosions of trust in their system that will add up and crumble the foundation. Brilliant approach, if you ask me. It appears your friend has contributed quite a bit these past couple of weeks.”
I hum my agreement, mindlessly running my fingers through Lola’s hair. It makes sense that they would aim for the Syndicate’s influence over people. The rebellion certainly doesn’t have the power or sway to match them in war.
We sit in silence for a few beats, me listening to the ambient sounds of everyone moving around the house and Finley reading through the packet. Until he randomly lifts his head, stares off at the wall, and mutters, “Someone is coming.”
I look at the cracked door, expecting our visitor to step through it at any moment.
“Sonny,” a second voice greets from the opposite end of the room, and my heart instantly swells in recognition. Lola lets out a screech, quickly hopping off the bed and running for the door.
Weird. She’s always fine when Finley comes around.
“Poppy.” Her name is a sigh of relief on my lips.
