Nineteen

The Assassins

I woke beside Nathan in his bed. The last rays of sunlight were fading from the sky, and all around us the room glowed a rosy pink.

I sat up, careful not to disturb him or jostle my wounded arm. He’d taken the time to fashion a makeshift sling out of an old T-shirt before we’d both collapsed with exhaustion, but I still wasn’t healed. I might have been in a lot worse shape if Nathan hadn’t helped me.

His eyes were closed, his face smudged with dirt and sweat and blood. He still wore his black uniform, but the shirt had come untucked as he slept. His flat stomach was exposed, and I lay my hand there, taking comfort in the feeling of another body beside me.

“Please tell me you’re in the process of giving me the best wake-up call I’ve had in a long time,” he mumbled sleepily.

I smiled. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“It would have happened sooner or later.” He sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed, frowning at the boots he still wore. “You want some breakfast?”

“Maybe in a little while. I think I want to go back to sleep.”

He got to his feet. “We’ve a busy night ahead of us.”

I groaned and shuffled my feet as I followed him down the hall. My injured ankle caused me to limp pathetically. As we entered the bathroom, Nathan halted at the sight of two half-used bottles of blue and magenta hair dye.

The giddy relief I’d felt at escaping death had filled me so completely that I hadn’t had room for anything else. But this reminder of Ziggy created plenty of space for sorrow, anger and, above all, guilt.

“I’m so, so sorry,” I whispered. I wanted to touch Nathan, to comfort him. But as usual, he seemed untouchable.

With an unconcerned shrug I knew he didn’t mean, he pulled his shirt over his head. His body looked less tempting than usual, as though pain and exhaustion had sapped him of some of his perfection. Or perhaps my body wasn’t in any shape to fool around.

“We’ve got to meet with the assassins tonight. Cyrus is still out there.” Nathan turned on the shower and unfastened his belt as if I wasn’t there, as if he didn’t care I was. Debating whether it would be more awkward to stay or make a fuss about leaving, I pretended to look for something in the medicine cabinet. His belt buckle jingled as he kicked off his pants, and I waited to hear the rattle of the curtain rings before I allowed my gaze to roam anywhere else.

“So, are you okay?” I said as I closed the cabinet door.

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Because Zi—” I couldn’t say it. “Because of what happened last night.”

“People die.”

“Yeah, they do, but he was kind of your only family.”

“Let’s not talk about it right now. I’ve got other things to worry about.”