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I strode down the hall to Feyre’s room at false dawn, knowing thanks to our bond that her nightmares had kept her—and subsequently me—awake and restless all night. Haunted by the memory of those two faeries she’d had to kill to save us all and the ash knife she'd used. Of the bone I’d given the Bone Carver, her face carved onto it in despair and agony. Knowing now what she had admitted to him in the Prison, that she'd been waiting for an opportunity to turn that knife on herself once she'd freed us… it worried me that she maybe still thought it was a viable option to rid herself of her suffering.
I knocked on the door, and as soon as I heard her permission to come in, I stalked in and chucked the belt of knives I’d brought with me to the foot of her bed. “Hurry,” I said flinging open the doors of her armoire and yanking out her fighting leathers, tossing them on her bed too. “I want to be gone before the sun is fully up.”
“Why?” she asked, pushing back the covers. She looked exhausted, but we didn't have time for her to sleep in more.
“Because time is of the essence.” I dug into her drawers and grabbed a pair of socks and her boots. “Once the King of Hybern realizes that someone is searching for the Book of Breathings to nullify the powers of the Cauldron, then his agents will begin hunting for it, too.”
“You suspected this for a while, though. The Cauldron, the king, the Book… You wanted it confirmed, but you were waiting for me.” Matter of fact, no question in her tone.
“Had you agreed to work with me two months ago, I would have taken you right to the Bone Carver to see if he confirmed my suspicions about your talents. But things didn't go as planned.” That was an understatement, really. Things going as I planned wouldn't have had Tamlin as a factor at all, let alone letting him neglect her until I had to intervene. It wouldn't involve her hating me, her neck being snapped before my eyes, or keeping this mate bond of ours a secret from her either.
“The reading,” she mused almost to herself, sliding her feet into her fleece lined slippers. “That's why you insisted on the lessons. So if your suspicions were true and I could harness the Book… I could actually read it—or any translation of whatever is inside.” She was sharp, but that was no surprise to me.
“Again,” I said moving over to her dresser, “had you started to work with me, I would have told you why. I couldn't risk discovery otherwise.” I paused with my hand on the knob, trying to choose my words carefully. “You should have learned to read no matter what. But yes, when I told you it served my own purposes—it was because of this. Do you blame me for it?”
“No.” She sounded sincere. “But I’d prefer to be notified of any future schemes.”
“Duly noted.” I yanked open the drawer, and to my surprise, I was greeted by a drawer full of fabric scraps and lace—the things that were likely brought back when Mor got involved in shopping for her ‘new best friend’. I picked up a silky midnight colored number off the top and chuckled as I dangled them from my fingers, eyeing her suggestively. “I’m surprised you didn't demand Nuala and Cerridwen buy you something else.” Though I couldn't say I was disappointed.
She stalked over to me and snatched it from my hands. “You're drooling on the carpet,” she snapped and stalked into her bathroom, slamming the door behind her. I wiped my mouth, just to make sure I actually wasn't, and took a deep breath, laying out the belt of knives I’d brought for her. I eyed the harness with some apprehension. This whole mission was dangerous. Everything was dangerous for her where I was concerned. Just being around me was painting a target on her back. Being my mate only made it larger, especially if anyone besides Mor or Amren found out. But sending her into the Weaver’s cottage… I knew it served two purposes and I had chosen it for this reason. But I had no idea what she would find in there and I worried for her safety. Knowing the stories of the Weaver of the Wood, the Illyrian sword strapped my spine gave me very little comfort.
When she emerged from her bathroom, it was all I could do to keep my face from giving me away. Her leathers clung to her body attractively, which had finally begun to look a little healthier now that she'd been eating properly and actually keeping it down. I was suddenly grateful that my own leathers hid just how turned on I was. It didn't help that I knew underneath were the delicate scraps of lace and silk she’d snatched from me. Before I could start fantasizing about seducing her back onto her bed and seeing if they made her look even more delicious than I already thought she was, I grabbed the belt of knives. I needed to focus on something, anything , else. She deserved better than that. “No swords, no bow, no arrows,” I said. I was proud my voice came out as steady as it did.
She looked at me skeptically. “But knives are fine?” I knelt in front of her and spread the web of leather and Illyrian steel, motioning for her to stick her leg though the first loop and bracing her as she stepped through the second loop.
“She will not notice a knife, as she has has knives in her cottage for eating and her work,” I said as as I buckled and tightened the belts until they fit her body snugly. “But things that are out of place—objects that may have not been there… A sword, a bow and arrow… She might sense those things.” There wasn't even a guarantee this would work, but it was our best shot.
“What about me?” she asked. I tightened the strap around her leg. It was becoming harder for me—in more ways than one—being this close to her and keeping myself in check as my hands brushed against her while I checked my work.
“Do not make a sound, do not touch anything but the object she took from me.” I looked up at her and braced my hands on her thighs. I thought of the tattoos on my knees, my vow to myself, and not for the first time, knew that I’d be happy and willing to bow before her and worship her if she would let me. “If we are right about your powers, if the Bone Carver wasn't lying to us, then you and the object will have the same…” I searched for the right word. “...imprint, thanks to the preserving spells I placed on it long ago.” A partial truth, but necessary. There were spells on it, and I had placed some of them when I wore it in the Illyrian camps. “You are one and the same. She will not notice your presence so long as you touch only it. You will be invisible to her.” At least, that was how it was supposed to work. I’d never tried this, and no other High Lord's thieves had made it out to tell us if we were right.
“She's blind?” Feyre asked. I nodded.
“But her other senses are lethal. So be quick, and quiet. Find the object and run out, Feyre.” I let my hands wander to the back of her legs, unwilling to let go just yet.
“And if she notices me?”
A fair question. My grip tightened involuntarily. “Then we’ll learn precisely how skilled you are.” She glared at me, and I shrugged. “Would you rather I locked you in the House of Wind and stuffed you with food and made you wear fine clothes and plan my parties?”
“Go to hell,” she snapped. She looked at me curiously. “Why not get this object yourself, if it is so important?”
Because my mother wanted my future wife or mate to be the one to retrieve it, I wanted to tell her. Such a loaded question that had an equally loaded answer. But she already barely tolerated me—most of the time hated me—and I knew that answer would not be met with a reaction I’d like. “Because the Weaver knows me—and if I am caught, there would be a steep price. High Lords are not to interfere with her, no matter the direness of the situation. There are many treasures in her hoard, some she has kept for millennia. Most will never be retrieved—because the High Lords do not dare be caught, thanks to the laws that protect her, thanks to her wrath. Any thieves on their behalf… Either they do not return, or they are never sent, for fear of it leading back to their High Lord. But you… She does not know you. You belong to every court.”
“So I’m your huntress and thief?” she asked sardonically. My hands slid to the backs of her knees and I gave her a roguish grin. “You are my salvation, Feyre.” And so much more.
~~
I winnowed us into the neutral wood. The natural, tightly woven canopy of the trees made it nearly as dark as my court on a night of the new moon, but without a single guiding star to provide comfort.
“Where are we?” Feyre breathed, her voice barely a whisper.
“In the heart of Prythian,” I replied, keeping my hands in casual reach of my weapons to fend off any potentially nasty surprises, “there is a large, empty territory that divides the North and South. At the center of it is our sacred mountain.” The place I never wanted to be this close to again if I could help it. The darkness of this forest was far too reminiscent of those caves and catacombs. “This forest is on the eastern edge of that neutral territory. Here, there is no High Lord. Here, the law is made by who is strongest, meanest, most cunning. And the Weaver of the Wood is at the top of their food chain.” Though there was no wind to shift them, the trees groaned, as though in agreement.
“Amarantha didn't wipe them out?” Feyre questioned.
“Amarantha was no fool,” I said darkly. “She did not touch these creatures or disturb the wood. For years, I tried to find ways to manipulate her to make that foolish mistake, but she never bought it.” If she had, so much of this could have been avoided. I thought back to one such instance, where I had suggested Amarantha try to ally with the Weaver, to use her to torture her enemies. After she reminded me that was something I did so well though, it barely even received a response.
“And now we're disturbing her—for a mere test.” The disbelief in Feyre's voice rang clear.
I chuckled. “Cassian tried to convince me last night not to take you. I thought he might punch me.” Indeed, he thought this test was dangerous—which it was—and could easily be proved in another way. Which it could.
“Why?”
“Who knows? With Cassian, he’s probably more interested in fucking you than protecting you.” Truthfully, it was more the compassionate commander in him, the one who didn't risk his men’s lives on hunches and fool’s errands. And I also felt he saw a kindred spirit in Feyre, related to her hardships growing up.
“You're a pig,” she snapped. She was nervous, focusing on what was ahead and letting it eat her from the inside out. And while what lay in wait in that cottage was without a doubt a cause for concern, she needed a distraction.
I knew just what to do.
“You could, you know,” I said carefully, holding up the branch of a beech tree for her to slide under. “If you needed to move on in a physical sense, I’m sure Cassian would be more than happy to oblige.” I said it, though I didn't actually believe it. He’d ribbed me too hard after finding out that it was her wedding I’d abandoned drinking with him to go crash. And besides, he’d learned his lesson after The Incident and how it had affected his relationship with Azriel for a time. None of us ever wanted to feel that division in our brotherhood again.
“Then tell him to come to my room tonight,” she crooned.
I knew she was bluffing. “If you survive this test.”
She paused, standing atop a lichen-crusted rock, and looked at me. Like this, she was almost eye level with me. “You seem pleased by the idea that I won't.”
“Quite the opposite, Feyre.” I prowled over to her, noting that she seemed almost unnerved by the charged air between us. I was close. “I’ll let Cassian know you are open to his… advances,” I lied. The hell I would.
“Good,” she said hollowly. I eyed her stiff posture and sent a bit of my power—the darkness that soothes, the darkness of lovers—to calm her. It had the opposite effect, recognizing the spark of itself in her; like called to like, stirring in answer to the presence of itself in her blood and bones. Before she could move away, jump off of the stone and break this moment, I gripped her chin, looking deep into her beautiful blue grey eyes.
“Did you enjoy the sight of me kneeling before you?” I asked silkily. It would be easy, so simple really, to kiss her right now. I could hear her heart thundering in her chest, nervous, her pupils dilating. She wouldn't turn me away. However, she quickly recovered and gave me a hateful little smirk, yanking her chin out of my grip and leaping off of the stone. I moved out of the way just in time to avoid her landing on my feet, which I couldn't shake the feeling was on purpose.
“Isn't that all you males are good for, anyway?” Her tone, breathless and tight, didn't match her smile at all. Her shield was down enough that I could feel that potent anger she'd shown me the day she'd thrown not one, but two shoes at my head.
I gave her a dark, flirtatious smile. I’d won.
She seemed to realize it too. “Nice try,” she said hoarsely. I shrugged and walked towards the trees ahead of us, her irritation and sexual frustration shooting uninhibited past her shields and down our bond. I couldn't help but feel pleased with myself.
I held up my hand as we stopped before the clearing, ruining her chance to retaliate. The white washed, inviting looking cottage of the most violent and nasty creature in these woods sat in front of us in the center, innocent and unassuming. I turned to Feyre, who eyed it with some apprehension, and inclined my head, bowing gracefully.
Good luck , I mouthed at her. She gave me a vulgar gesture, but didn't hesitate as she slowly and silently made her way to the front door. I winnowed into the tree branches above the house and watched as she looked back to see if I was still there. The thought crossed our bond that she wondered if she should have asked if I would come for her if she were in mortal peril.
As if I would willingly let her die.
It was fascinating to watch her as she fell into what I imagined must be muscle memory for her—the mortal huntress that had kept her family alive through harsh winters and taken down Tamlin's sentinel. The woman who had taken down the Middengard Wyrm merely using ingenuity and what she had around her. She made her way soundlessly to the threshold, and after a moment of listening, opened the door and slipped inside.
I let out a breath I didn't know I’d been holding in. The first part was done. I listened hard, but the only sound I could hear was the very faint humming that I imagined was meant to draw in prey for the Weaver. Feyre was so focused that even her shields were perfect; not so much as a crack I could slip into.
Settling in for what could potentially be a long wait, I sat on the branch, keeping an eye on the front door for any sign of Feyre. Once she had it and was out of the house, I would winnow her back to Velaris. There was no reason to make it more difficult than it needed to be.
The minutes crept by as I heard nothing but the unintelligible song coming from the cottage. The only thing that kept me in place was that I knew I couldn't interfere—both because the Weaver would know me and because I knew Feyre could do this.
I was beginning to get anxious though. Feyre hadn't appeared yet, and she'd been inside the cottage longer than I expected. It was quiet. Too quiet. I couldn't put my finger on—
The song. It has stopped.
I heard the door to cottage shut audibly. There was no Feyre. I was on my feet and searched our bond frantically. Her shield was still tight, but it had a small crack—not enough to get through, but enough to hear.
“Who’s in my house?” A woman's voice said softly. I froze. She'd somehow attracted the Weaver’s attention. This was not good.
Suddenly, her shield disappeared, and I was met with a blast of fear and the image of a woman that, if you looked only at her body, would be enticing and attractive. Her face though, hidden behind silky black hair, was grey—wrinkled and sagging and dry. And where her eyes should have been were rotting, empty black pits. Her lips had withered to nothing but deep, dark lines around a hole of full of jagged stumps of teeth, and her nose had caved in.
“What are you?” she said in a beautiful voice that did not match her at all. She took a step towards Feyre. “What is like all,” she mused, “but unlike all?” She had noticed. She wouldn't link Feyre back to the Night Court. But that wasn't as comforting as it would be if it were anyone else in that house. Suddenly, Feyre lunged for the table in front of her and grabbed a burning candle, hurtling it against a wall of fabric—the Weaver’s work.
I heard the Weaver’s shriek through our bond and with my own ears, splitting the silence of the forest like a cleaver. Feyre made a dash for the hearth, taking advantage of the Weaver’s distraction, and worked her way up the chimney. A smart move.
Until she got stuck. I contemplated winnowing in there and getting her out, consequences be damned. She'd gotten this far. Her dying for this was not worth it.
“What little mouse is climbing about in my chimney?” The Weaver’s voice echoed again, and upon seeing her face, Feyre’s head emptied out of everything but blind panic. She was suddenly Under the Mountain again, the Middengard Wyrm barreling for her, and she couldn't breathe. She was frozen.
“Did you think you could steal and flee, thief?”
That was it. I couldn't watch this. Couldn’t—
Stop.
The word crossed our bond, like she had heard me.
Stop, she ordered herself. Breathe. Think.
Stop. Stop, stop, stop.
Think.
She suddenly started pounding on the bricks in front of her. I watched her curiously through the bond as I felt her inner strength return to that of the huntress. Of the woman I’d fallen in love with.
I heard the Weaver roar in anger as I was suddenly thrown from her head and blinked as I suddenly was met by normal light. I looked to the cottage and saw Feyre climbing out over the lip of the chimney and tumbling onto the roof. The front door banged open.
“ WHERE ARE YOU? ” The Weaver screamed. But Feyre had already taken to the tree branches scrambling through the treetops. She had moved past me and was clearly trying to put as much distance between her and that butcher’s cottage as she could.
I winnowed closer to her location and lounged against the tree trunk, draping an arm over the branch. She skidded to a stop in front of me, covered in something shiny and greasy, and also something that looked like hair. “What the hell did you do ?” I couldn't keep the smirk of pride off my face, nor the feeling of relief from spreading through me. She’d made it out. She was alive.
“You,” she hissed, her eyes flashing. I put a finger to my lips and winnowed over to her, grabbing her waist with one hand and cupping the back of her neck with the other.
We appeared just above the House of Wind and began to free fall. I waited for a scream that never came and released my wings, spreading them wide and curving us into a glide through the window of the war room. Cassian and Amren froze, mid argument it seemed, and stared at us as we landed.
“You smell like barbecue,” Amren said to Feyre, cringing. Cassian relaxed his stance, taking his hand off of the knife at his thigh. Feyre was panting hard.
“You kill her?” Cassian asked, eyeing Feyre curiously.
“No,” I answered, sensing she was in no state to be talking. “But given how much the Weaver was screaming, I’m dying to know what Feyre darling did.”
Feyre vomited all over the floor. Cassian swore and Amren waved a hand, cleaning up the mess on the floor and on Feyre.
“She… detected me somehow,” she managed to say, slumping against the large black table and wiping her mouth against the shoulder of her leathers. “And locked the doors and windows. So I had to climb out through the chimney. I got stuck, and when she tried to climb up, I threw a brick at her face.”
Amren turned to me. “And where were you?” There was clear accusation in her voice.
“Waiting, far enough away that she couldn't detect me.”
“I could have used some help,” Feyre snarled at me.
“You survived,” I said simply. I looked at her hard. “And found a way to help yourself.”
Realization crossed her face. “That's what this was also about,” she spat. “Not just this stupid ring ,” She reached into her pocket and slammed it down on the table, “or my abilities , but if I can master my panic.”
Cassian swore again as he stared at my mother's star sapphire ring sitting in the middle of the table. He and Azriel had been there the day my mother had taken it back from me. He knew what it meant—what I was declaring by having sent her in for it. Even if he didn't know all of it.
Feyre, of course, knew nothing.
Amren shook her head, her dark hair swaying. “Brutal, but effective.”
“Now you know,” I said. “That you can use your abilities to hunt our objects, and thus track the Book at the Summer Court, and master yourself.”
“You're a prick, Rhysand,” Cassian said quietly.
I tucked my wings in with a snap. “You’d do the same.” He shrugged, as if to agree begrudgingly, but we both knew he would have.
Feyre looked at her nails, cracked and bloody from her encounter. The scrapes and scratches on her face hadn't healed yet either. She looked up at Cassian. “I want you to teach me—how to fight. To get strong. If the offer to train still stands.”
Cassian’s brows rose. “You’ll be calling me a prick pretty damn fast if we train,” he said, not looking at me. “And I don't know anything about training humans—how breakable your bodies are. Were, I mean.” He winced. “We’ll figure it out.”
“I don't want my only option to be running,” she said.
“Running,” Amren cut in, “kept you alive today.”
Feyre ignored her. “I want to know how to fight my way out. I don't want to have to wait on anyone to rescue me.” She faced me, crossing her arms defiantly. “Well? Have I proved myself?”
I picked up the ring off of the table. I hadn't seen it in centuries. It had some shelf wear, but with a little care, the twisted strands of gold, silver and pearl would be shined up in no time. I nodded my thanks to her. “It was my mother's ring.”
“How did you lose it?” she demanded.
“I didn't. My mother gave it to me as a keepsake, then took it back when I reached maturity—and gave it to the Weaver for safekeeping.”
“Why?”
“So I wouldn't waste it.” So I wouldn't give it to anyone I wasn't sure I wanted to spend the rest of my immortal life with. Feyre looked like she wanted to say something, but her knees buckled suddenly. She needed quiet and a bath, she'd accidentally shouted down our bond, and without thinking or saying a word, I grabbed her hand and flared my wings out, and took off into the air. I snapped my wings shut and let us freefall for a few heartbeats before winnowing us into her bedroom. I could hear the water running in her bathroom—Nuala or Cerridwen had clearly either heard us or just knew her well enough that she would appreciate the gesture.
As she staggered towards the tub, a thought crossed my mind. “And what about training your other… gifts?” If she'd had those, it would be another weapon in her arsenal—so she could keep herself safe. And I couldn't lie that I was rather interested in watching her train with Cassian for a few reasons.
“I think you and I would shred each other to bits.” Through the rising steam, I could see she just wanted to take her bath, but this was necessary.
“Oh, we most definitely will,” I said leaning against the bathing room threshold. “But it wouldn't be fun otherwise. Consider our training now officially part of your work requirements with me.” I jerked my chin at her. “Go ahead—try to get past my shields.”
She looked at me wearily. “I’m tired. The bath will go cold.”
“I promise it will be just as hot in a few moments. Or, if you mastered your gifts, you might be able to take care of that yourself.” I knew she just wanted to relax, but the momentum we’d built up was too good to let go to waste—I could still feel the sparks of adrenaline from her escape in her blood, and I didn't want to squander it. She frowned at me, but took a step toward me, then another, making me take a step, then two, into the bedroom. She held my stare and I could feel that emotion bubbling up in her veins again—the power she could wield so effortlessly if we trained her even just a little bit. I couldn't help but think again of what a fool Tamlin had been in trying to ignore it, when as a High Lord he knew what letting magic build up, especially ours, could do to her.
“You feel it, don't you,” I said in a low voice, probably not suited to what we were doing. “Your power, stalking under your skin, purring in your ear.”
“So what if I do?” She played right along.
I shrugged. “I’m surprised Ianthe didn't carve you up on an altar to see what that power looks like inside you.”
“What, precisely, is your issue with her?” That she still didn't see it, after how the priestess had practically set up her wedding to fail, even if I hadn't come in to rescue her when she placed those red rose petals, was maddening.
“I find the High Priestesses to be a perversion of what they once were—once promised to be. Ianthe among the worst of them,” I said evasively.
“Why do you say that?”
“Get past my shields and I’ll show you,” I taunted. She held my stare, and then I felt her in our bond, that braided bit of light, feeling at my shields for an easy way in. But I wouldn't make this that simple. I knew she could do this if she tried.
“I’ve had enough tests for the day,” she said tiredly. I crossed the two feet between us. She couldn't give up just yet.
“The High Priestesses have burrowed into a few of the courts—Dawn, Day, and Winter, mostly. They've entrenched themselves so thoroughly that their spies are everywhere, their followers near-fanatic with devotion. And yet, during those fifty years, they escaped. They remained hidden. I would not be surprised if Ianthe sought to establish a foothold in the Spring Court.”
“You mean to tell me they're all black-hearted villains?”
“No. Some, yes. Some are compassionate, selfless, and wise.” I thought of the one temple on the outskirts of Velaris, where one who came from the Summer Court had established a place of worship, but did not use her rank to interfere with my rule or try to oust me like I’d seen some try. “But there are some who are merely self-righteous… Though those are the ones that always seem the most dangerous to me.”
“And Ianthe?” Feyre asked. I gave her a knowing look, and I could feel she was furious at herself for falling for my trap. She was too curious to let it go now.
I felt her slam into my shields with a lash of power that made them reverberate as surely as she'd hit them with her body. I chuckled at the fire in her eyes, the strength of will that had always been something I’d loved about her, as she panted from the effort that had taken out of her. “Admirable—sloppy, but an admirable effort.”
I took her hand, loving how perfectly it fit into mine. “Just for trying…” Our bond went taut, and I could feel her once again at my shields. This time, she merely brushed a mental hand against the dark adamant wall. The spark of power I’d given her reacted again to our closeness, and I had to bite my lip to keep from letting out a groan at the feeling of her there. It just wasn't damn fair.
I opened my mental shields, just a section, so she could see why. She strolled in, trusting. Her first mistake. And as she saw Ianthe lounging naked in the middle of my bed in the Hewn City, she reeled back at the memory in front of her. She quickly tried to escape, and realized I’d closed her in when she wasn't paying attention. But it was important for her to see this; to understand.
It was harder to relive this moment than I thought it would be. I’d not viewed it like this since Feyre had freed me from Amarantha, and now, having lived basically what Ianthe had wanted from me, I knew I had made the right choice in throwing her out on her ass. I was nearly as angry as the day I had done it. But at least with Amarantha, I’d gained something from it—the lives and safety of my family and my court.
As the memory ended and I released Feyre from my mind, she stumbled physically before me, blinking and getting used to reality again as I had when I’d watched her in the Weaver’s cottage. “Rule one,” I said, willing myself to calm down, “don't go into someone's mind unless you hold the way open. A daemati might leave their minds spread wide for you—and then shut you inside, turn you into their willing slave. Rule two—”
“When was that,” she blurted out. “When did that happen between you?”
The rage I’d almost gotten under control came back, a blast of icy anger. “A hundred years ago. At the Court of Nightmares. I allowed her to visit after she'd begged for years, insisting she wanted to build ties between the Night Court and the priestesses. I’d heard rumors about her nature, but she was young and untried, and I hoped that perhaps a new High Priestess might indeed be the change her order needed. It turned out she was already well trained by some of her less-benevolent sisters.”
Feyre swallowed hard, clearly shaken by the memory. “She—she didn't act that way at…” she froze, as if she'd realized something. I wondered if Ianthe had been up to her old tricks in the Spring Court as well, and if so, who had been her unlucky victim.
“Rule two,” I continued, “be prepared to see things you might not like.”
Before she could ask me anymore questions, I winnowed away, to the roof of the House of Wind. It had only been an hour or two since I had walked into her room, and yet it felt so much longer. In such a short span of time, I’d felt everything from fear, anger, anxiety, lust… love. I knew I should be tired, but all I felt now was restless.
I fingered the ring in my pocket carefully, and for a brief moment, wondered if I’d ever have the chance to give it to her—where she'd possibly accept it, and me.
I shook my head, as if it would clear away the idealistic, hopeful thought. I threw myself off the roof and let myself free fall until I knew I had to pull up, I snapped open my wings and let myself zone out as I circled my city lazily, trying to think of anything and anyone else.
But that small hand that had fit so perfectly in mine wouldn't leave my thoughts, now with the star sapphire ring I hoped would one day adorn it.
I was well and officially screwed.