Cardinal Tower (Trinity Central Book #1)

Chapter 1

"That was not my fault," he juts a finger in my direction, cutting off the last syllable of my statement in the process. He just shakes his head disappointed as I cross my arms in firm protest. "Harsh sis, but fair point." He laughs and says something just out of ear shot, but I don't attempt to string together his words either. Rather, a chipped piece of porcelain rocks back and forth under the tip of my index finger with all of my attention devoted to that instead. I don't realize it, but I must still be staring with the same dazed expression because Devon just sighs and gently leans to face me, "What were you thinking about this time?"

It takes me a second to respond, and it seems like he's about to drop the topic entirely when I finally do. In a hushed tone, "What else could it possibly be?" is all I manage to say. My eyes lower so I only have to face the broken cup instead of his concerned gaze. He's quite literally the last person alive who can gauge such a reaction out of me, and I'm still debating whether or not to kill him for it. It makes me feel submissive. Weak.

"There's nothing we could have done," he tells me, a hint of what sounds like empathy in his voice, but I know better than that. "Mom and Dad were much older than forty, and Shelle was just a toddler. It was inevitable. We were in the age threshold of Carpa Malum, isn't that enough? That at least we were strong enough? I mean sure, without Dad we were demoted to Tetra status, but at least that's better than death."

I don't respond, partially because I'm not in the mood to talk but mostly because I know my rebuttals are futile.

With the last sip of his coffee, Devon stands from the table. "I'm heading out to the factory to pick up some extra cantos. Someone's gotta pay for that new set of kitchenware. It's almost nine so the lab should be open soon. Don't be late again." He places his cup in the sink, careful not to crack one of the few we have left.

I nod, sipping my coffee extra loud so as to drown out the sound of his nagging.

He picks up his corduroy coat from the hook protruding from the wall, dusting off the neckline and inspecting the fabric. "You know, if you just got a real job then maybe we could afford to move out of this dump. Volunteers don't get paid." He slips an arm through his jacket while throwing mine towards me with the other.

I ease my way into the comfortably fitting leather, pulling my hair over the back. "I'm not volunteering, I'm observing. I get hired after my training period, remember? Which, if I recall correctly, ends today," I boast proudly.

"You do you, but I'm off. I'll try to pick something up on the way home."

"With what? We're broke."

"You're broke, I'm innovative." I know what that means; he's going out to steal. At this point, it's basically sport. He found a nice little boutique the other day; it sells expensive clothes and even more expensive pastries. We have been living off of the stolen goods from that store for weeks, but to our defense, we haven't had much of an option for our survival. I have my own shop but instead of clothes and French pastries, mine sells knick-knacks, toiletries, stationery, and everyday items. Our favorite pastime is seeing who can steal more within an hour. He thinks practicing every day will give him a chance at victory, but I still have the pleasure of remaining undefeated.

The door clicks behind him, and the buzz of the clock next to our cable set marks the passing of another hour. The number 0900 blinks on the screen, taunting me as I roll my eyes. I'm about to leave when I remember a detail I've almost forgotten. I lift the corner of my mattress closest to the door, and slide the hidden dagger from underneath. There's no use of keeping it, and there's no need to hide it from Devon, but I still do.

The metal finds its place between my ankle and the leather of my mud covered boots, and a feeling of comfort washes over me. Bolting out the door and patting the nearly set coffee stain on my blouse, I leave the house with the knife cooling against my skin.