Page 20 of Dangerous Chaos

“Wit… You know something?” she prodded. “Is that what this is? You—”

“I thought we’d have more by now.” He interrupted. “More information. Intel. Evidence.”

“It’s been a hell of a day,” she said, waiting for him to say whatever it was he was afraid to say.

“I thought things would work themselves out like they always do. But here we are,” he admitted. “I was hopin’ we’d have at least another damn clue, and that would be enough.”

“If you know something, you need to tell me,” she pleaded. “The sooner we—”

“I know…” He interrupted once more. “I know, Angel. See, you asked about my past earlier –– or Ashlyn did, pretending to be you. The parts of me you’ll never find anywhere. The parts I never…talk…about.”

“But you do talk about it. I don’t know everything, obviously, but I think most of us feel like we would recognize yourmamaanywhere or those aunts and uncles you’re always talking about,” she said. “You have a big family, given all the tales you share. Is that what this is about? Are you worried someone in your family might be…”

Wit let out a chuckle, earning her attention, but sat in silence a good moment or two after. He was still debating, or so it seemed. The war within was visible in his expression: he was debating on what to say, how to say it, or whether it was worth it at all? His hesitation also cast a sense of something else –– shame maybe, or disappointment, perhaps embarrassment.

“I have two pasts, Ayelish.” He stared hard into her eyes, looking for a reaction. “The one I wish I had, and the one I try to forget but can’t seem to. It haunts me constantly, no matter how hard I try to rewrite it.”

“Wit?” She whispered his name like she could sense the darkness filling his stare before it was there.

“Promise me one thing, Ayelish.” His voice quaked, and the look he wore was that of a brokenhearted boy, lost in the world. “Just one thing, love.”

“Sure.” Emotion filled her words like she already felt their punch. “Anything, Wit. Anything.”

He looked at the ground and traced his fingers through the fluff of the fur blanket in an infinity circle.

“Promise me,” he started, lifting his pain-filled eyes to hers. “Promise that you won’t think badly of me. Remember my heart, who Ireallyam because no one knows me –– the real me now –– like you do.”

“I p-promise,” she stuttered. “I could never think badly…”

He put up a hand to stop her. “Oh, you just might.”

10

Wit stoodat the wet bar across the room and lifted a crystal bottle of something dark and amber. He held it up, looking at Ayelish. “You might want one of these too.”

“Sober, remember?” She held up a bottle of water.

“I’m pouring you one,” he said as he turned his back and filled two crystal tumblers. “But I’ll drink it for you. You’ll thank me later.”

She didn’t say a word, but the big gulp of water that followed in anticipation was audible. He snickered at her response and added a little more to his glass, then held the two tumblers in one hand and the rest of the decanter in the other. Wit rejoined her on the blanket in front of the fire, setting her glass to the side as he took his seat, followed by a big swig of liquid courage.

He hissed from the burn and forced a faux smile. “The stories are real. Maybe I should have started with that and said they just aren’t all mine. Not in the way I tell ’em.”

“How do you mean?” She followed her loaded question with a healthy sip of her own as if the water had the same effect as the booze.

“They belong to others. I was more of an observer and sometimes just a listener. My stories are well… not the kind of thing people talk about in mixed company or want to hear… or repeat.”

Wit stilled and let her do what he knew she was doing –– going down a checklist they were all trained to use. In their line of work, it was second nature and happened without realizing you even did it. Their psychological training made them more than just human lie detectors. They could sense a plethora of things, from their character to trauma and everything in between. It was how they sized up enemies and counted on allies. They knew who they could count on and who they couldn’t. Who could handle the tough things, and who would crack under pressure.

No matter how aware Wit was of these tactics and how good he was at detecting things in others, he couldn’t turn off the thing that brought them to the surface. When her eyes glassed over and emotion settled in, he knew she’d picked it up. Trauma. It hurt her to see it, and that was the exact opposite of what he wanted for her. Despite knowing what it looked like, he could never hide it in himself because he wore it on his sleeve. You just had to look in the right light, on the right day, at the right time, and you’d see it. If you knew to look for it. She knew to look for it.

“You don’t have to tell me. Not right now,” she said. “Not if you’re not comfortable.”

He shrugged. “It’s going to come out anyway, and I’ll probably have to tell it, or parts of it, more and more as this thing unfolds. Especially if we can’t catch a lead. May as well get the first one out of the way.”

Her head bobbed quickly, and her hesitation transitioned into something soft and inviting. “Okay. Whatever you’re comfortable with, Wit.”

“I knew the Skrivers,” he deadpanned.

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