✦ ✦ ✦
RAINA STUDIED MATTHEW AS THEY VEERED DOWN the crowded London streets.
His hands were calm on the wheel of his car, fingers tapping along casually to the song on the radio. He did not seem the least bit nervous or off-put by their venture.
It was past two on a Thursday and they'd both ducked out of their final periods in favour of driving to London, to ambush Saiid at his hotel. Much to Raina's surprise, Gray had found out the hotel that Saiid was at and it wasn't the Jabir Regency. For as long as she recalled, her family stayed at Bilal Jabir's hotels, no matter where they were at in the world. In a way, she considered the Jabir Regencies to be her slice of Riyadh in whatever city she may be in.
But no, Saiid was staying at The Connaught.
Raina recalled the weeks ago when she and the girls had lunch there after shopping for Helena's party. It felt like a lifetime ago. Then, they'd been tense, yes, wrought with worry, especially after the Mafia had delivered a flash drive to Freya on the street outside the boutique like it was nothing. But now, the air in Ebony House was more than tense, it was suffocating.
Raina wondered if this was how it always felt for Freya. If the girl always felt like the world itself was closing in on her.
If so, she'd done a good job of hiding it for years. Freya was a liar like that. But Raina was struggling to resist to urge to burst into tears for no reason at all. She wasn't even sure why she wanted to cry. Was it because of Anakin Graves? Or the fact that Kirova had turned his eye onto her older brother? Was it because Freya was upset with her though she'd never admit it? Raina just felt a little useless in the grand scheme of things. And she was no good at hiding it.
Fiddling with the collar of her beige long coat, she glanced again at Matthew. He hadn't spoken much, rather let them sit in the small silence where only the pop songs on the radio played.
He was always utterly at ease with the world. At least to the observant eye. He walked with a surety in his steps, he spoke with an easy confidence in his words, he was always utterly calm, as if the world was his and he commanded it. Anyone would believe Matthew al Nassar's image that he'd painted for himself. He was a liar, just like Freya on that front.
But Raina knew he wasn't always calm. Although he gave no sign of it, she knew there was a storm below his skin just like there was one underneath hers, underneath Freya's, underneath Anakin's. And she'd glanced at it only a few times. The first time when he beat the living daylights out of Theodore Altringham that night in Cyan Hall. And the other time when he stood on the steps of Ebony House, gold eyes wild as he realised that he'd lost Freya.
But he hadn't lost Freya.
No, the pair had even sat together for lunch a couple times this week, utterly indifferent to the eyes on them in Arrowsmith's dining hall, raking along their skin like vultures hungry for scraps.
Freya and Matthew hadn't lost each other.
But Raina had lost Anakin. He wasn't even hers to claim but still, she felt the ghost of his presence all the same.
"Tell me about him," Raina found herself saying, puncturing the silence in the car.
Matthew blinked, clearly surprised. But he didn't need to ask who she meant.
He cleared his throat. "He's my brother."
It was a funny, deeply funny, thing for Matthew to say, yet Raina knew he was being honest. The way Anakin had talked about Matthew that last day, when he'd laid the truth at Raina's feet, it was like he'd put the sun itself in the sky. He's a good man. I know he's a good man.
"Then why didn't we just fix all this by having you call him?" The question had stirred around Raina's head for a while.
Matthew's gold eyes were contemplative as they drove. "You tell me," he said after a moment. "Brothers aren't always easy. Aren't we going to ambush yours right now?"
Raina narrowed her eyes at Matthew. "You're nervous," she observed. She didn't know how she knew. He gave no signs. But she knew.
He didn't deny or confirm, instead saying, "Aren't you?"
She was nervous. For about a million different reasons.
"Why are you nervous, Matthew?" asked Raina.
A sigh left his lips. But he answered, which surprised Raina. In this way, he was unlike Freya, who sometimes would rather shoot herself in the foot than talk about her feelings. "Anakin— the world has not been kind to Anakin. Kirova ruined his life before it was even his life to claim. And I haven't been kind to him either with all that's happened. And then, he left. No one has ever apologised for all that had been done to him."
Raina wasn't prepared though, for Matthew's stare to pull her way meaningfully before fixing back onto the road. "He's so similar to Freya that it's scary. The world isn't kind to any of us. I was made out to be a villain two years ago, but Anakin was forced to become one as a child, and Freya— What is it you all call her? Ah, yes. The ice princess— she's not so different."
Raina blinked at him. "I don't call her that. It's only the dumbasses at school who have nothing better to do. And I don't think she's a villain, or you, or Anakin." Though, Anakin Graves seemed to think he was a villain. Every time he'd called Matthew a good man, what was left unsaid was I am not a good man.
"You treated her like one," was all Matthew said. He didn't even look at Raina. She wondered how long he'd been waiting to say this, and what had stopped him from saying it that day in the kitchen.
"She treated me like one." It was all Raina could muster.
Matthew turned the wheel in a smooth motion, rolling closer to the hotel. "Because you lied. And she lies too, yes. We all lie. But the world isn't kind and it doesn't apologise. Kirova will never say sorry to any of us, I know this in my heart. And justice or not, Freya will always feel the emptiness where that apology should be. But you're her friend and you didn't apologise."
They were in the driveway of the hotel now, a valet was approaching. Matthew's eyes burned into hers. Raina swallowed. "You're making excuses for her."
The valet came over but before Matthew could step out and hand him the key, he pulled the key from the ignition and said to Raina, "Don't we all make excuses for the people we love?"
Love. The word struck her like a bullet.
But Matthew was already getting out of the car before Raina could retort that love had nothing to do with this situation.
She scrambled after him, into the hotel's interior.
Matthew was absolutely at ease as he broke through the lobby like he owned the entire place. No one even stopped him, no one blinked. He certainly looked the part of a five-star hotel owner.
He'd ditched the Arrowsmith tie and blazer and had the white sleeves of his shirt rolled up to his elbows, meanwhile, Raina felt mildly out of place, still wearing the plaid skirt and tie. She pulled the edges of her long coat closer, hoping no one spared her a second glance as she followed Matthew up a dark wooden staircase.
The hotel itself was not as modern as most, with a tastefully old-fashioned appeal, from the portraits lining the stairwell to the overheard skylight that peeped the grey London skies. And it was quiet. Raina wondered if this was why Saiid had picked here.
"What was the suite number again?" Raina asked in a whisper as they ascended the carpeted stairwell.
Matthew said it to her and he began to navigate the hotel's halls, leaving Raina to follow. When she noticed they were nearing the number of Saiid's suite, she fell into step with Matthew and said, "Anakin isn't just going to burst into the suite, is he?"
Matthew smiled wryly. "Guns blazing? I don't think so. Not his style, more of Grayson's."
Raina scowled. "So how will we know he's even here?"
Matthew stopped in front of Saiid's door. "Leave that to me," he stated. "You just worry about your brother."
But Raina wasn't done with him yet. She snapped, "I don't love Anakin."
Matthew looked down at her. And to her horror, he smiled. "I never said anything about Anakin. I was actually talking about your love for Freya. But it's interesting that your mind went there."
Raina's mouth fell open but she couldn't retort for the door to the suite shifted open and a clean-shaven young man with Raina's high cheekbones stepped out, perhaps summoned by sounds of their conversation. Saiid al Hassan blinked at his sister in surprise. "Raina?"
Then, the heir to Ibrahim turned to Matthew, blinked again before remembering his manners and extending a hand to Matthew. "Asalaam alaikum."
Matthew accepted his hand and returned the greeting while Raina stared between the two, already annoyed even though Saiid had just arrived.
What did he see when he looked at Matthew? A good Muslim boy who, by default, was better than Raina? She wanted to scream that was far from the truth. But she knew that wasn't fair to Matthew— who had only been nice since they'd left Arrowsmith, even when he was taunting her about love. Just the thought of the word was making her shudder.
Saiid finally turned his stare onto Raina, eyes peeling between the pair.
Her brother looked as immaculate as ever, a Rolex glinting at his wrist, his blue shirt neatly tucked into his trousers, his black hair combed to perfection. After all, Saiid was perfect. But his eyes were wary and he had a nervous structure to his posture that Raina couldn't miss because it was so un-Saiid of him.
"What are you doing here, Nuri?" The nickname sent a spike of nostalgia through Raina. She hadn't felt like Nuri in a long time.
Raina ran her tongue over her teeth before jumping into it. She didn't bother beating around the bush.
"What does Andre Kirova have on you, Saiid?"
✦ ✦ ✦
FREYA WAS IN THE PROCESS OF PULLING ON A PAIR of tall Louboutin boots. She was careful not to tread on the white plush rug that lay below her bed as she walked to the door. It was a habit she'd developed from her late grandmother, who absolutely forbade her and Karsyn to ever thread upon the carpets in Arsovya House with shoes on. Those Eastern European values didn't so much extend to Westshire Hall, but that didn't matter. Her mother had kicked her out of that house anyway.
Victoria hadn't tried to call in the week that had passed since the argument. Freya hadn't expected her to. Her mother was stubborn and immovable, a trait which she'd unceremoniously passed to her daughter.
But Nikolai Arsov had called. Several times over the course of the week. Freya had ignored each one, even if she was aware of the effort. Her father rarely personally called her. If he wanted to have lunch, it was a secretary or assistant who'd make the call. But these calls had come from his personal phone— a BlackBerry that he insisted on having on his glass desk in the London Arsov building even if much better tech existed.
It didn't matter that he called. He could say he was on her side all he wanted but it didn't matter whose side he was one when he too would stand between her and Kirova.
She was trekking down the stairwell of a silent Ebony House. Raina and Matthew had left after lunch and the others were now in classes. Freya had submitted her essays for English early so that she could skip that period.
She didn't expect to swing open the door to Ebony House and find someone standing there.
Headmistress Vidia al Nassar levelled a golden-eyed stare upon her. "Miss Arsov," she greeted, a small smile upon her lips.
Freya blew out a breath, hiding her panic. Cooly, she said, "Headmistress. What brings you to Ebony House?"
Vidia scanned Freya's lack of uniform. She tossed the deep blue of her hijab over a shoulder and stepped around Freya into the house. Freya had no choice but to shut the door and whirl to face the woman as she slowly spun in the foyer, eyes passing over everything.
Freya had always admired Vidia al Nassar, even when she was putting her in detention for weeks on end. She was a strong presence of a woman, who commanded respect as easily as she breathed air. It was a trait that she shared with her niece. Atalanta had always been good at being the centre of attention. And Matthew too, in the way he led the members of Du Morts with effortless commands, leaving Freya to marvel at how much they respected him even if he was young and rich and born into a completely different world than them.
"I went to your English class to ask Miss Dixon to speak with you for a moment," stated Vidia.
Miss Dixon, also known as Horseface, was one of the teachers who absolutely loathed all the Ebony House girls. But that was a personal problem.
Freya refrained from rolling her eyes. "I submitted my work before class."
It was an agreement amongst the senior students of the school to see that they could have more free time. This time was meant for studying, not clandestine trips to London in the middle of the day but it is what it is. Of course, Horseface would seek to mess up her plans.
"I'm not here to scold you, Freya," went the Headmistress, her fingers knitted together before her patiently.
Freya tilted her lips in wait. She refrained from checking the time on her phone. She had to be gone before Matthew returned. She knew he'd stop her. She didn't want to start their newfound peace with lies. So she'd told the closest person to him, to ease her guilt. Plus, she needed a ride. And she absolutely refused to ask Pierre, even if he'd go behind her mother's back and do it. Besides, she intended to tell Matthew, just once the deed was done.
"Where are you heading off to?" carried on the Headmistress.
Freya lifted a brow, playfully remarking, "Wow, headmistress. If I'd known you were coming over a for a girl's chat, I would have put up some tea."
Vidia smiled. That was why Freya liked her. She had a sense of humour. But then her eyes cleared and were sombre. "Maybe some other time," said the headmistress. "I actually didn't come to talk to you as your headmistress."
Freya curbed her wariness with a grin. "Ah, I knew it! We were always friends, weren't we, headmistress? Does this mean you'll forgive me for the rose bushes?"
"I don't think anyone will be forgiving you for the rose bushes anytime soon, Miss Arsov," remarked Vidia. "But I came to talk about Matthew."
Freya suspected that. She hid her sigh from the woman. Matthew had told her that his aunt knew a little of it, less than Atalanta did, but more than his mother knew.
"Did my mother send you?" Freya asked at last.
"No." Vidia cocked her head at her. "It's true, your mother and I are in contact but I'm here right now for my nephew."
Freya believed her. She shuffled on her heeled feet. "What about him?"
This conversation could literally lead anywhere and Freya's mind was working to see ahead. It was the first time she'd spoken to an adult about Matthew. She hadn't even gotten to chance to talk to Pierre about him.
Vidia sighed and brought a manicured hand to her forehead before returning her tired gaze to Freya. "He's just like his father."
She had to admit, she didn't expect her to say that of all things. But Freya recalled Minerva al Nassar mistaking him for his father that day in the gardens and the grief that had flared across his face and how she'd wanted to shield him from it.
"He thinks he can save the world," said Matthew's aunt. A shake of her head. "Just like him. Ilyas thought he could resurrect the family business."
Freya had never looked at it that way. Matthew was good, yes. He was certainly better than her. He blamed himself for everything. And he tried to fix everything. He wasn't like her in the sense that she broke everything she touched. He was an artist, after all.
His aunt was right. He did want to save the world.
"What are you asking me here?" Freya went on, a little quietly.
Vidia loved her nephew. Freya loved him too. And there was love in his aunt's voice when she said, "I'm asking you to let him go. Break his heart, if you need to. But let him go. He'll try to save you, Freya. And it won't go down well."
Freya took a step back. Her eyes flew over the woman as though she'd misheard.
But of course, she hadn't misheard. She'd heard every word.
And Matthew did want to save her. He wanted to fix her. She knew it. She'd told him he couldn't do it, that it wasn't his job but she knew he'd try anyway.
"Save me?" She repeated, tasting the words as they spilled into the still air of the foyer.
Vidia al Nassar knew more than she was letting on. Kirova had known Matthew's father. And Freya's mother had known more than she was letting on. She'd known Kirova too, she'd spoken his name that day in the car and Freya, though lost in her little hell, hadn't missed it. She had never spoken the name to her mother, but her mother spoke the name as if she knew him, knew just how dangerous he could be.
It all went deeper than she knew but she couldn't find a way in, couldn't manage to crack the ice and see the whole board.
And the adults didn't seem keen to share for Vidia pursed her lips and simply challenged, "Am I wrong?"
"Yes. You are." Freya was a liar. She tilted her chin at the headmistress. "Now that that's cleared up, may I leave?"
Vidia frowned. Love, she loved her nephew and it was in her eyes as she pleaded, "Freya—,"
Freya's hand was already on the door. She cut Matthew's aunt off, "Maybe I can save him, you know? No one ever stops to think that." She didn't want to be the villain in this story, she didn't want to be the reason everyone fell apart. But her dreams stirred in her head, even when she slept in Matthew's arms, and they purred with accusation.
She yanked open the front door to Ebony House and walked down the front steps, trusting that the headmistress could let herself out.
She found Grayson at the car park, idling in an old Rolls Royce she recognised as Matthew's father's.
She pasted a smirk on her face, pretending the conversation with Vidia had never happened, as she approached the tattooed boy. "No motorbike, huh?"
In her spare time, she had taken to teasing Maye about her bulky, inked boyfriend. He's not my fucking boyfriend, Maye would snap. But she'd also mentioned one evening as they nursed a pot of tea together over homework that Grayson possessed a motorcycle. At that, Freya had wiggled her eyebrows at Maye and went, Oh? So that means you can enjoy a ride on another thing of his. Mayella had thrown a pencil at her.
Freya couldn't exactly tease Raina anymore— for she and Seth appeared to be a thing of the past. And she'd rather not talk about whatever was going on between her and Anakin Graves.
"Nope. I stole your boyfriend's car, I hope you don't mind," stated Gray as she climbed into the passenger seat.
Boyfriend. It felt like a small word to call what Matthew was to her. But it would do. It was a lot better than the things he was in her dreams. A piece on a board in the game between she and Kirova, and her dreams were wrought with worry over what would happen to him.
Freya shared a fiendish grin with him. "Next time, you should aim higher, Grayson." She tsked, "Next time, we shall collaborate to steal his dear Persephone."
Harold the guard let them pass. Freya had told Grayson to simply slip a few pounds to the man but it seemed Grayson had done something else for Harold was incredibly pale as they went by. She decided she didn't want to ask.
They were ambling toward London in quiet. Well, as quiet as it could be when Gray had rap music blasting. Freya was still upset she'd never gotten a rap song made about her. Shawty Freya had a ring to it.
She surprised Grayson when she said, "Are you in love with my friend, Grayson?"
He nearly jumped from his seat. A large exhale. "Fuck, Arsov," he went. "You don't hesitate."
Freya only looked over to him. Her conversation with Vidia rang in her ears. She lowered her lashes at him. "Do you love Maye?"
Gray tapped his fingers at the wheel and refused to look her way. "I like her," he decided.
Freya would take it. She tilted her head. "Then, don't break her heart."
Grayson carried on driving. "I don't intend to."
Mayella was Freya's oldest friend. They'd gone from swimming together in the kiddie pools of luxury resorts to jumping hand-in-hand off yachts in bikinis.
She smiled at Gray. "Good. Because if you do," she said, "I'll be the one who hands Maye the knife so that she can cut off whichever parts of you she likes."
Gray winced at the thought.
At last, they pulled onto Harrow Road and the place swam into view.
It was a Persian restaurant that Freya had been to once before with Jules. Gray had never been but he informed her that this place was likely chosen because it didn't fall within Du Morts's jurisdiction over London. It was untouched by the world of violence that ran through the city. Well, until Freya stepped out of the car.
She turned to Gray. "If I ask you to stay out here, you won't listen, will you?"
A rouge grin. "Absolutely not."
Freya shook her head. "Fine. Meet me inside."
And then she walked toward the building, a sign sporting foreign letters in marking the place. Freya had learnt bits and pieces Arabic for Raina when they were younger— she'd always had a knack for languages. The sign was in Farsi, however. She knew the name anyway.
Behesht Restaurant.
Freya sauntered through the open door of the place, her eyes latching immediately upon the person who sat comfortably at a table for four, the light from the stained glass windows overhead casting them in reds and blues as they waited for her.
She collapsed casually onto the wooden chair opposite them, the smell of spices rampant in the quiet air of the restaurant. There was a pretty patterned rug below her feet and various brightly-coloured lamps hanging around the area.
Freya hooked a single finger under her Van Cleef and Arpels necklace in a bored gesture, the necklace's carnelian stones matching the ceramic tiles along the walls of the space. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't strangle you right now," said Freya by way of greeting.
Lottie Sheridan gave a short laugh.
She flicked a braid over her shoulder and leaned forward, elbows on the wooden tabletop. The ends of her braids also matched the tile on the wall.
Her eyes were serious even as she joked, "Because I'm paying for lunch?"
A server walked over but Freya didn't look his way, eyes narrowed upon Lottie.
"Let's cut to it. Why have you contacted me, Charlotte?" drawled Freya.
Charlotte ignored her, turning to the waiter as she rattled off an order.
"I'm not alone," remarked Freya as the waiter traipsed away, leaving her to stare down Lottie.
"Oh?" Lottie lifted a brow. Her golden serpent stared at Freya from where it sat at the girl's throat. "Is your boyfriend here too? I would've sent the invitation to him but I felt I'd get a better reception from you."
"Tell me, what made you think that? Was it the recollection of when I told you to fuck off about a dozen or so times when you kidnapped me?"
Lottie clasped her fingers together on the tabletop. Her eyes held the same witty spark that had been there the first time they'd met, the same one that had flickered at her across a card table. "I want to apologise for that, actually."
Freya erupted into laughter then.
Lottie didn't even look surprised by the outburst, hands folded patiently over one another as she waited for Freya to finish.
"You called me to this place to have lunch with me and to apologise for kidnapping me?" Freya wiped away a tear. "My, Charlotte, if I knew any better, I'd say you fancy me."
Lottie only smiled. It was a tight smile, clearly offset by Freya's continued use of her full name. Freya couldn't give a single flying fuck about Charlotte Sheridan and her feelings.
"Fancy you? No," remarked Lottie. "I do respect you just a tad though."
Freya hadn't expected that. "Oh?"
"Well," explained Lottie, "you won the game of Spades, for one." Her eyes flashed just a little. "And you did hold a knife to my neck. I can respect that."
Freya whistled. She didn't bother denying the accusation about the game of Spades.
"So, what you're telling me here, Charlotte," mused Freya, "is that you like it kinky?"
It was the first time the girl looked absolutely impatient with Freya. Good.
"Do you plan to talk your way into beating Andre Kirova?"
And like that, Freya's jokes fell away and she remembered exactly who Lottie was, exactly what this world was. The headmistress's words echoed within her head.
Just then, Grayson walked in but Freya couldn't make herself look at him. She was burning holes into Charlotte with her eyes. But the girl didn't seem bothered.
She leaned forward just as Gray deposited himself into the seat beside Freya, lips undoubtedly pulled into a frown when faced with the leader of the Coilers.
"Ah, so you brought the brute." Lottie clapped her hands. "Do you like kebabs, Winchester?"
Freya held up a palm, stopping anymore talking on Lottie's part. Her tongue was just a much of a weapon as Freya's, so it seemed and she'd just used it to drop a bomb.
"What do you know about Kirova?" snapped Freya.
Gray tensed at the name. They both hadn't known what this meeting would entail but the topic of Kirova was always sore.
"I know a lot," Lottie merely stated.
It was Gray who spoke, a little in a growl, "You're working for him, Sheridan, aren't you?" He cast his eyes to Freya. "Anakin knew that Kirova was behind the kidnapping," he said, shaking his head. His fury was palpable. "I should've known he'd be right."
Freya was silent, brain racing.
Lottie spoke when Grayson was done. She held up a finger. "Yes and no."
Freya sucked in a breath and turned an acidic stare on Lottie. "Why am I here, Charlotte?"
A server arrived at their table and placed down several platters of steaming dishes. Neither Freya nor Gray touched it.
"Anakin Graves," replied Lottie simply. She reached for a serving spoon and began putting rice onto a plate.
"What about him?" It was Grayson, the furious, protective note of a brother in his voice.
Freya, however, she didn't have any feelings, any anger. She was clinical in that moment as she faced Lottie.
"You see, Kirova tricked me into that kidnapping," explained Lottie, anger flaring in her eyes as she cut into a piece of lamb. She didn't like to be tricked, surmised Freya. "And when I found out, I did some research about him. And you. And all of it."
"Research, you say," Freya found herself saying.
"Yes." Lottie dropped her fork. "I know everything."
Freya believed her. It was there, sparking behind her gaze. She was clever. If anyone could've found out the truth, it was this angered girl with her blazing intellect.
Freya swallowed. Gray had gone silent. "So, what does this have to do with Anakin Graves?"
Lottie looked at Gray for a moment, as if weighing her words and the extent of his reaction to them.
"I was helping him," she said at last. "I hid him in London so he could avoid your people. He wanted to go after Kirova and I didn't mind helping."
Gray's reaction was immediate. At first, he blinked. Then, he growled. Finally, he was pushing away from the table, looking ready to skewer Lottie like a kebab. Freya might just let him.
But first, she had more questions. She leaned forward on the table, at last turning her attention to the setup. There was tea. Freya took her time pouring a cup and bringing it to her lips, eyes never leaving Lottie.
This was what she was good at, whether or not it would work on Kirova. Freya was a talker, she was a silver-tongued trickster. And she would negotiate with Lottie Sheridan if need be.
"So, you're helping Anakin Graves out of the goodness of your heart?" She queried. "Shall I start calling you Mother Theresa?"
Lottie mirrored her motion of drinking tea, before saying, "I know enough to think that Kirova deserves whatever fate you want to give him." She set down her cup. "What was it like, anyway?"
Freya's silver tongue turned leaden. She rested her cup on the table to keep it from clattering to the floor— or to stop herself from throwing its steaming contents at Charlotte. Gray let out a warning growl at Lottie, but she paid him no attention. She didn't even look like she'd meant to wound Freya, but just like Kirova, this topic was sore.
"What was what like exactly?" Freya's tone took on a dangerous edge.
Lottie seemed to remember Freya's knife at her neck but it didn't stop her from saying, "Babochka."
Her secrets spilled bare on this tabletop and all Freya could do was stare at them. She was there again and she hated it. She wished for the necklace at her neck to be a noose.
At last, her words returned, the noose unfurled and she said flatly, "It was cold."
And that was the truth.
Charlotte asked no more.
Finally, when the frost tipped away from Freya's veins, the gang leader said, "I wanted you to know that I was helping Anakin Graves."
Through the haze of her head, understanding latched onto Freya. "Past tense," she observed, wariness sinking into her bones.
Lottie shared in her wariness, a coat of worry painting her skin. "Yes. He left my flat four days ago and I haven't heard from him since."
Gray swore colourfully.
Freya was still cold and the heat of rage didn't touch her yet. She frowned. "Did he say where he was going?"
But the question really needed no answer. Freya had told him where to go.
Do us all a favour and stick a knife in his neck.
But he'd been gone for days.
He'd failed.
And now Matthew and Raina were playing bait for a boy who would not show.
No, Anakin Graves would not show.
Because if she knew anything, it was that Babochka Institue was cold and so was Kirova, and even if you somehow managed to leave the cold, it never really left you. It just ate and ate away at you until you were just gone.
Anakin Graves was gone. And it was all her fault.
✦ ✦ ✦
why is this book so long?
idk man and i'm sorry, this wasn't supposed to happen
+ appreciate my ig edit thing of gray and freya before everything went to shit