It’s weird. I’ve never lived anywhere as long as I have at the base. I’ve been in Liberty for most of my life, but I’ve always drifted, for lack of a better word. I’d stay at Nel’s for a few days, then another acquaintance, and so on. I’ll die before admitting it out loud, but it’s nice having someone wash my laundry and give me food. Free food, too.
My stomach flutters with unease as I approach a collection of sheds. Not quite on the harbor, the structures sit clustered together, but apart from the shops and warehouses. They look like the only thing holding them together at this point is rusted nails and a whole lot of prayers.
I step up to the closest house and knock on the door. No response. I check the knob. Of course, it turns. Nel never locks the door. She’s never sober long enough to do so, I suspect.
I step inside; the floorboards creaking under me. Going down the cramped hallway, I pass the front room, only pausing long enough to confirm my once-friend is passed out on the sofa, several empty bottles beside her.
Nel used to be a family friend, but she was shunned for her crappy life choices—drinking until she’s wasted only scratches the surface—and now lives alone, except for when I’ve stayed with her. I judge her too, but I also can’t blame her for wanting to forget the nightmare we live in, and she’s gone through worse than many of us. I’m certain that’s why she drinks. She’s trying to forget.
I go to the back room and rifle through its tiny closet. There, in a box, I find what I’m looking for. There’s a faded shoulder bag made out of denim, a faded photograph, twenty dollars, and some extra t-shirts. Nel would have spent the money for sure if she’d known it was here, but she rarely comes into this room. It’s where I’d sleep when I stayed here. I survey the empty room, sadness slumping my shoulders. There’s nothing about this place I miss. My memories are filled with only misery and regret. I wish things could have been different.
I stuff everything into the bag and sling it over my shoulder. Time to leave. There’s nothing left for me here.
Walking back the way I’d come, I only hesitate a moment when my gaze settles on Nel. She’s still asleep, her graying blonde hair a long, matted nest. She’ll be out like a light until morning.
I don’t miss hearing her cry.
I almost leave her the money.
Almost. But I know she’ll just use it on alcohol, and if there’s something she doesn’t need, it’s that. I can’t judge her too harshly, but I won’t enable her, either.
Stepping outside, my breath catches in my throat when I see some shadowy figures across the street from me, but they’re just passersby and don’t appear to give me a second glance as they shuffle down the sidewalk. I head in the opposite direction, toward the docks. My heart’s heavy with memories I wish weren’t mine.
I glance up at the sky as I walk. Only for a moment, one can’t be too careless about one’s surroundings, but I see the clouds are only gray, tattered wisps across the sky, leaving stars scattered about the inky darkness.
For a place that harbors so many people, Liberty can sure be lonely. I exhale, the night air just cold enough to fog my vision before the breeze dissipates it.
Down by the docks, I eye the area, unease flickering through me. It’s usually crowded with the homeless and dream vagrants, but tonight, it’s nearly empty. I probably shouldn’t be surprised. The city is running scared after the chaos that ensued when Stella was attacked.
It’s strange that an elf attacked her. Are they all villains? Is Sol just pretending to be a good guy? I discard the thought almost immediately. If all of the elves wanted Stella dead, she would be. I probably would be, too.
There’s a lone person standing at the edge of one of the docks. My steps slow. He’s too far away to make out in the murky gloom, but there’s something familiar about him. He’s facing the water, his gaze trained on the black expanse of the Puget Sound.
I step closer, even as my instincts whisper at me to run. A bead of sweat trickles down my back, and my palms are sweating.
This man is dangerous.
But I know him.
He doesn’t turn to look at me. From the back, I can see his mop of blond curls, the breeze tugging at the shaggy strands.
I step closer, my shoes scuffing the pavement.
“Hello, Lyra.”
Wilder doesn’t turn around. How can he tell it’s me? “It’s been a while.”
“Yeah.” I halt when I hear his voice. Fear skitters up my spine. Why? I felt afraid the last time I saw him, too, at Stella’s old home. “What are you up to these days?” I ask.
“Not much,” Wilder says, and I don’t miss the wistfulness in his voice. “Fighting crime while trying to keep myself alive, I guess.” A pause. “What about you?”
“Same, actually,” I say. “You fighting the gangs, then?”
Wilder shrugs a shoulder. He used to wear hoodies a lot, like he was always cold, but today he’s wearing a black jacket, the leather shiny and new. Dang. Looks good on him, fitting snug across his shoulders. “Yes, I suppose I am,” he says. He barks a laugh that sounds more depressed than amused. “And the elves and other vampires, and I don’t even know
