Page 138 of Lana Pecherczyk
“Stop, stop, stop.”
Manfri ran to him, pinning his arms before he could tear his healing wounds open. “Wake up. You’re dreaming.”
The struggle continued until Cielo’s eyes snapped open, vacant with terror. Sweat plastered his overgrown hair to his forehead, his skin burning with fever.
This pattern repeated for days. Cielo would wake, drink water, refuse food, then collapse into tortured sleep. Occasionally, he’d watch Manfri paint with hollow eyes, his silence more damning than any accusation.
In those quiet moments, Manfri’s rage grew, directed not at Cielo but at himself. He should have listened. Should have followed sooner. Should have recognized the danger of a human stealing his friend’s heart.
“Tell me,” he finally begged during one of Cielo’s more lucid moments. “Tell me who did this. We’ll call every crow we know—Nikan, Carmine, and Tommas. Your father. My family. We’ll call them all and rain bloody murder from the sky. On them, on their descendants.” He gripped Cielo’s shoulders. “Just say the words, and we’ll paint your enemy’s blood on our faces.”
“No,” Cielo croaked. His fingers flexed against the blanket, knuckles whitening. “Her death belongs to me.”
Her. The only confirmation Manfri needed.
Manfri nodded, understanding blooming between them. He wouldn’t push. Wouldn’t question. His friend had claimed this vengeance, and he would honor it.
But he would help. Would strengthen Cielo for the battle to come.
“I’ll make you strong again,” he promised. “We’ll make Aurora pay.”
Something flickered in Cielo’s eyes then. Before Manfri could decipher it, the moment passed, and exhaustion reclaimed his friend.
Chapter
Forty-Three
Entering another crow’s trove violated more than privacy. It peeled back layers of their soul, exposing every secret they’d collected across centuries. Treasures, memories, and dreams they dared whisper only to starlight were all gathered in one sacred space. Trespassing didn’t just break some unwritten rule. It sliced open their heart and devoured it raw.
If Cloud discovered River and Blake there, lightning would be the kindest punishment he’d deliver.
They should leave.
Yet, River couldn’t help thinking that they had a little time. Cloud had likely departed for the Great Murder already. He wouldn’t return soon. Besides, it wasn’t as though River had deliberately sought out this place. The river’s fury had chosen their path, almost as if it wanted them here.
“What is this place?” Blake’s words bounced off stone walls.
A single mattress with a rumpled blanket at the chamber’s center was the only functional furniture.
“Cloud’s trove.” River kneeled and pressed the blanket to his nose. His friend’s scent flooded his nostrils—ozone, rain-soaked earth, and woodsmoke.
“Over here.” Blake beckoned River closer. “I think this is where it begins.”
Walk away. Don’t look.
He shuffled to her side. “How can you tell? It’s chaos.”
She gripped his arm and pointed to trinkets dangling from a taut string. “These look like a child’s treasures. See the crude craftsmanship?”
River lifted a dangling stone dagger carved in the shape of a feather. Dried blood still crusted its porous edges. “A remnant from our Blooding Ceremony.”
“What’s that?”
“A coming-of-age ritual. Juvenile crows face a series of challenges to earn their place as adults in the murder.” River pulled aside his jacket to reveal a tattooed dagger covering a pale scar. “He stabbed me here to win. Classic Cloud—always first.”
“He sounds awful.”
A small, bittersweet smile touched River’s lips. “He’s not. Just competitive. I’d have done the same. I think I even have a similar memento in my trove.”
