Chapter 27

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Zephyrus

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Zephyrus. Just thinking his name brings a sour taste in my mouth. To make matters worse, I touched the swines hand. Disgusting. No matter how hard I scrub my hand, the feeling won't go away. It's there like a permanent scar forever burned in my brain.

I need to calm myself down. Now's the perfect opportunity to capture a picture of him somehow, then we'll finally put a face to the man who's been orchestrating this entire war. It'll be hard, I'm sure. Being both a god and primordial's head advisory, he must be swarming with personal guards.

I'm not sure what to expect at this dinner, but we need to prepare for the worst situations. Zephyrus is someone who always has a Plan A, B, and C. I'd almost say we're lucky to have survived this long.

Mika and I need to make a plan.

I undress. The scrubs fall to pale carpet. One wall is a complete mirror, easily catching Marc's seal in its reflection. The curse mark is in ruins, scratched with hundreds of tiny lines. I should feel grateful the mark hasn't disappeared, yet, considering once it does, I could face a painful death. My hand squeezes the medallion.

This walk-in closet has nothing short of a full wardrobe, displaying dresses and flats and underwear, all in the color black. I'm surprised primordial would have enough decency to use black when it's the UFE's celebratory colors. But then again, they're not human.

I pull on a simple black dress, one reaching just above my knees, and flats sculpting to my feet, perfect for running. They've trimmed my hair into a bob to fix the black rabbit's treachery, and even changed my clothes. They've seen it all. There's no point hiding the curse mark anymore.

When I leave the confounds of the closet, I head straight into the adjoined room and find Mika's closet door wide open. He's in the middle of changing and I don't say a word. As Mika tucks a dark shirt into his new fitting pants, then sifts through the collared shirts.

Does he always wear a shirt under his formal clothing?

Mika finally notices me standing by his bed with my arms crossed. He jumps back, face turning red as a tomato. "Can't you see I'm in the middle of changing."

I look him up and down. "You're practically dressed already."

"I feel so exposed." He grabs his head, burying the shame into his hands.

This feels like déjà vu all over again. We don't have time to deal with this Ama crap. I walk up to him and grab hold of his hand. Before he can say another peep, we're locked inside his bathroom with all the water facets running at full capacity.

The close proximity doesn't seem to bother him until I step closer, forcing him into a corner. His face deepens into the color of a blooming rose. "We need to make a plan," I whisper. "This might be our only chance before he comes back."

He hastily tries dressing, doing a horrible job at it, too, snapping buttons in the wrong places and forgetting to fix his hair in the process. "Now you want to make a plan."

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