Fae funerals were beautiful. They believed that in death, they should be returned to the earth. Early in the morning they had begun the ceremonies, small funerary pyres lit at varying times and places in the field. Normally, they would have done them all at once—the Fae had permission to use this section of field for their funeral traditions—but since most of us were fugitives, it was risky to be out in the open like this.
I hated that I saw beauty in any part of this disaster. Hated that I was the reason for so much death. That I hadn’t left well enough alone—left Tarik alone.
And now . . .
I tried to convince myself that I had done what I could. I had saved a few of them, and that was enough.
But no. Nothing I had done was enough.
They hadn’t deserved the havoc wrought on them by yet another shifter. I was exactly what Tarik had always feared of me.
And we still couldn’t find Benji.
My stomach churned. The feeling grew, and I almost retched when the Fae passed prayers and offerings over the final funeral pyres. They buried the scent of death with incense, but even that couldn’t mask the ache I felt over the losses—every single one of them—burning my soul. In all the world, there wasn’t anything that would make up for the lost children. Or Elias. My chest squeezed painfully at the thought of Elias on one of those pyres.
I stood alone, far to the back of the group. Tarik was beside Rebel Leader, comforting him in a way I didn’t know how. I couldn’t help any of them. Hell, I could barely even look at Sebastian, whose tears fell freely at the loss of another sibling. Or at the twins, offering him silent support.
Why did I always have to be so stubborn? I could have listened to Tarik and stayed behind. Fought more, saved more, done more.
Several of the Fae had thanked me for protecting them.
Thanked me.
My eyes burned at the memory.
Bright orange flames licked at the night sky and I almost crumbled. If I could take everything back and suffer the pain myself, I would. All of these broken hearts, these falling tears, these sorrowful eyes. I did this. Not Tarik, not even solely Mordecai. I was the reason they had lost so many friends and family members.
I brushed a tear from my cheek.
Nevaeh already knew what I was planning to do after the funeral. I couldn’t cause more grief, more pain, so I was leaving. Fleeing, like the coward I was. I didn’t know where I would go—maybe to learn more about my mother. Knowing that she was Fae should have given me some kind of comfort but, staring at the fires in front of me, the knowledge only made me feel worse.
My gaze lingered on Tarik as the plan ran through my mind again. I knew how much this would hurt him, even if that wasn’t my intention. My heart ached every time I looked at him.
He was better off. They all were.
I closed my eyes. Snuffed out the sight in front of me. Nothing helped. Elias. Benji and Flynn. Hundreds of Fae, missing or dead or hiding in the tunnels under the city.
Their memories would haunt me for a long time to come.
I couldn’t wait much longer. If I did, I wouldn’t leave. If I did, the thought of hurting Tarik would cripple me. Would hold me here. My thoughts skipped over his voice, his touch, the brush of his lips. We were building something. Slowly, with our fair share of bumps and confusion and uncertainty—but something.
My breath stuttered. I couldn’t linger. He glanced in my direction, like he knew my thoughts. I let my gaze roam over his handsome face, memorizing the lines, the freckles, his nose, his mouth. The green eyes that flickered with fire light. I absorbed every tiny physical detail that made Tarik who he was, down to the beautiful jagged scars that marred his cheek and jawline.
When he turned away I slipped off, into the dusk, letting my feet lead me back to the city.
Away. I was going away.
Where I couldn’t hurt anyone ever again.
I knew what she was doing.
Every single molecule in my body knew. I didn’t go after her, though, and that decision killed me.
She needed space to process, to make sense of the foreign emotions flooding her system. If I pressed, she’d blow up. If I hovered, she’d shut down. I knew all of this, because when I’d glanced across the field, I saw myself in her eyes. I had looked away for a moment, and when I’d turned back, she was gone.
When I couldn’t find her after the funeral, I’d panicked and grilled every single Fae I ran across. No one had seen her. Coming to my senses, I’d asked her friend Nevaeh. By the way she dodged my questions, I knew she was aware of Reagan’s whereabouts.
One day I tailed the purple-haired rat shifter as she left the tunnels, a bulky pack slung over her shoulders. She knew I followed—she wasn’t the rebel’s little spy for nothing. And she led me straight to Reagan anyway. I hadn’t gone inside the crumbling building, but I’d paced outside for hours. Debated going in. Forced myself not to. I had lingered like a stalker.
Rebel Leader slapped a piece of paper on the scuffed table before me, disturbing my memories of the past week. Sound returned. The steady plink of a leaky sewage pipe, the nearby rustling and
