The Boy Who Wasn't Real

Elisaveta

Eric shifts on his feet before answering, "I'll trust you if you stop doing whatever it is you're doing with—" he holds up our clasped hands— "this."

I smile flirtingly. "What do you mean? You don't like it when I do this?"

He turns a bright shade of red. "That's not what I said."

"Then what did you say, Eric?" I get up from the floor and sit back down on the armrest of the chair. I wait for him to answer, running my thumb along the lines of his fingers. I know it makes him uncomfortable, so I continue to do it.

"I meant that with you doing this, I can't focus." He rubs his free hand along the back of his neck.

"Does this mean that you want me to let go?"

His answer comes quick. "No."

I grin wider and sigh. "So very reluctant for a thief who gets soft when a pretty girl even looks at him."

Eric looks down and huffs. "Why did you ask me to trust you? Is the training for The Hollow really that dangerous?"

"I asked you to trust me because training for The Hollow involves jumping off this jet. And training isn't that hard. As long as you can't feel pain." I laugh.

Eric joins me, but his laugh is nervous and shaky. Then, he seems to realize what I said. "Wait. You said jump off this jet. Why do we have to jump off this jet?"

"To buy you some time. What else?" I wink. Eric looks at me, something flashing behind his honey eyes. He smiles distractedly.

I hear a noise and tense up. I release Eric's hand and slip under the chair. I can barely breathe, but I stay under anyway. I don't want to give Eric away. Even though he says he has nothing to live for, I want him to live for his own sake.

"Mister Alastor," says a masculine voice, "We are ready for you to exit Obsidian."

I hear Eric's feet tap nervously on the floor. "Can—can I stay—stay for a bit, sir?"

The person who's talking to Eric clicks his tongue. "I'm sorry, Mister Alastor. I cannot allow you to do that. If I did, you would compromise our entire schedule."

"Schedule?"

"Yes. Schedule for your release into The Hollow."

I draw a sharp breath and immediately regret it. Eric's foot stops tapping. I can tell by the quiet that he heard me. And that means the other guy heard me too.

"That noise," says the man, "What was that?"

Eric's foot starts to tap again. "I don't know, sir. Would you like me to check around the jet? I'll gladly stay for a bit longer."

Very smooth, thief, I think.

"That won't be necessary, Mister Alastor. Obsidian gets fully searched before landing."

I tense up and feel the press of my knives against my skin. I forgot I had them with me. I slide my hands up to touch the pommels and grips of all eight knives. I say their names inside my head to give me courage.

Destructor. Rampager. Assaulter. Slaughterer. Eliminator. Ruiner. Executer. Destroyer.

Eric pretends to sigh in relief. "Thank you, sir. I appreciate your hospitality."

Footsteps start and fade. The man must've left. I push myself out from under the chair and am met by Eric's scowl. I extend a hand and wait for him to take it so I can lift myself up. He takes it—reluctantly.