Page 251 of Entangled

And only the king gets the queen.

Chapter55

Eden

Survival tip #317

The fairytales lied.

The ancient forests are safe.

Cities are where people go to die.

The city is a ruin.

Overcast clouds cling to the skeletal remains of towering buildings, rubble sits in tumbled, blackened piles, and I’ve seen two signs with the old city name graffitied out. That city doesn’t exist anymore.

It’s Cyanide now.

It took eight days of travel, but we’re here, and we’ve been stalking behind the tree line in the cold morning air for over an hour now. Dom and Beau went ahead to scout the path that Bentley directed us to take—despite the uncomfortable distance between them, they were quick to buddy up for the dangerous job.

“We’re good to move,” Dom says right beside me, and I yelp.

He cocks a brow at me, and Lucky laughs, ruffling my hair. “Beautiful, I know he’s a bit rough on the eyes, but screaming in his face is just rude.”

Dom gives Lucky a dry look as I press a palm over my racing heart and huff. “Dom isn’t rough on anything except my behind.”

Both of them pause, glancing at me, Dom’s eyes glinting with memories and Lucky’s twinkling with humor. Color starts creeping into my cheeks as my brain catches up to my treacherous mouth.

“I-I mean...”

Beau strides in behind Dom, and I beam at him, flustered. “Beau!”

He cocks a brow the exact same way Dom did moments before, and my racing heart twists at the gesture. These two shouldn’t be fighting. They’ve been friends for so long that it’s like they’re slowly sawing away a limb—one they might be able to limp through without, but the loss would change them irrevocably.

Beau reaches over to nudge my glasses back up, stroking my cheek absently as his hand falls away. “You okay here?”

“Can we move now? We’re wasting time.” Heather shoulders between us. Her hair is bound, her face hard.

Dom nods, whistling, and our group gathers—Beau, Lucky, Jasper, Heather, Aaron, Ava, Sloane, Jennifer, Katherine, Jo, and Sara.

But I keep my eyes on Heather.

Since the decision was made to attack the Den, it’s like Heather’s hatred woke back up. It writhes, alive and vibrant and in need of its target. It reminds me too much of her furious recklessness in the camp, with Sam, and with Alastair and Mateo... and it frightens me. She may have given up leadership for this mission in favor of Dom’s experience, but I don’t know what that will be worth if she’s confronted by Alastair.

Dom brings his rifle around, holding it ready.

“Move out. Keep quiet and low, in pairs, ten paces apart. Watch for signals. Just because we didn’t spot something on scout doesn’t mean nothing will crop up to bite us on the ass.” Dom looks around at everyone one by one, as if to assure himself we’re receiving the message. “We’re meant to wait by the pharmacy. Bentley said he regularly has people on watch there, so we should get picked up soon. Anyone spots anything, blow your whistle. Youheara whistle, you stop like your life depends on it—because it might.”

I touch the whistle that’s dangling by a makeshift chain around my neck. It presses against my skin with chilly reassurance. I’m packed carefully. My bag is efficient and as small as it can be outside our traveling supplies, food, and sleeping necessities. I have a pistol at my hip, that I’m only starting to learn how to use, and I have a new knife at my ankle. I’m packed to survive.

At Dom’s signal, we move. I step in beside Heather, claiming her as the other half of my paired team. She held my hand in the dark when I needed it... and I’m starting to think she might be drowning in it.

We started this fight against the Sinners together, and that’s how we’ll end it.

Heather looks down at me, and I push my glasses up my nose, giving her a stubborn, determined look that dares her to pick someone else. The quiet fury on her face eases, and she gives me a half-smile, then pushes forward. There’s an assured confidence in her quick steps, like she’s on her way to a board meeting and not into a dead city for a mission that might turn us into its new victims.

I have to beat back my rising anxiety again, wiping my palms surreptitiously on my pants as I hurry to match her pace.

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