Chapter Nine

Killing the Messenger

Nothing goes as planned. People say goodbye. Buildings burn, and the impossibility of moving back in with Cynthia Grey after the age of eighteen can actually happen.

As I stood before the colossal home my father left to me after his death, I felt a bit nauseous at the prospect of walking its halls everyday again. Some of my best and worst memories happened within those walls: Jack chasing me down the halls, cooking my first meal, my father dying before my eyes, and everything I thought he was slipping away as I read a hidden file on the second floor.

But it was still home.

The gravel crunched beneath my feet as Jared walked me up the steps to the front door. The sun had hidden behind the thick clouds that were quickly moving in, and the air smelled like a mixture of winter and spring.

I took a deep breath and let it out as the wind blew the blonde strands of my hair against my cheek. “I’m going to get unpacked and organized. I have to go into Titan before they think I’ve defected.”

Jared tossed the keys to Bex. “Update Mom and Claire. I need you back here at six thirty.”

Bex nodded once. “You got it.”

The smell of freshly brewed coffee filled the air as we walked in, and Cynthia's heals signaled her approach. She stopped suddenly in the foyer.

“Oh! You startled me. Really, Nina, you could at least call if you’re going to visit so early.”

“We’re not visiting. We’re moving in,” I said, making my way up the stairs.

Cynthia rushed to the first step, looking up at us. “What on earth are you talking about?”

Jared turned to face her. “Donovan set explosives in the loft. Everything except what’s in our bags is gone.”

Cynthia paused for a moment, a common tactic of hers to calm her voice before she spoke when she was angry or taken off-guard. “Well. I’m glad Nina’s safe. How long will you be staying?”

“Indefinitely,” I said.

I had reached the top before she spoke again.

“You’re filthy,” she snapped, her heels clicking to the kitchen.

I smiled. She was always snippy when she didn’t want to show emotion—the soft sort.

Trying to find a professional ensemble from my high school wardrobe was nothing short of frustrating. It was then that it hit me that all of my belongings were gone. Everything Jared and I had purchased together, the bed we shared...the downstairs tub. Different items in the loft flickered through my mind. It was strange how each of them, however insignificant they used to seem, were attached to a memory.