“Sylph!”
Her eyes fly open. So do Smithson’s. And I suddenly realize Sylph’s shoulders are bare.
So are Smithson’s.
“Oh!” I let go of her.
“What’s going on?” Sylph asks, shoving a hand through her tousled black curls. The blanket slips.
“Ah!” I yell, and turn around to block Logan’s view. Smithson beats me to it by sitting up and yanking the blanket up to Sylph’s chin.
“What are you doing in here?” Smithson asks. His chest is covered in curly brown hair, and I can’t even look at him. Or at Sylph. Or at Logan.
I should just close my eyes and hope nobody notices while I crawl out of the room.
“There was a note. And then we saw the X. And I thought you were dead.” I find Sylph’s eyes and hold her gaze. “I thought you were dead.”
A frown pinches her brow, and she starts to sit up.
“No, no,” I say, even though she’s clutching the blanket to her neck.
“Stay down,” Smithson says.
She throws him a look of affectionate exasperation. “It’s just Rachel.”
“It isn’t just Rachel,” he says, and Logan clears his throat behind me.
“I can step out for a minute,” he says.
And leave me alone with a naked Smithson and a naked Sylph? Over my dead body.
“No!” I say, and everyone stares at me. “I mean, um, maybe we should both leave. Because clearly they aren’t dead. And they need some . . . they need a minute.”
Sylph’s hand joins mine, and I feel new calluses on her palm. I stare at our hands, her golden fingers curved around my pale ones, and the relief I feel threatens to choke me. I clutch her hand too tight for comfort, but I can’t bear to let her go.
“Why did you think I was dead? What X?” she asks.
I shake my head. The lump in my throat isn’t going to let me talk. Plus, I’m busy not noticing that no one close to me is wearing clothing.
“The tracker got into the building last night. He left a note for me in our room,” Logan says, and the strain in his voice might be due to the subject matter, or he might be busy not noticing the general lack of clothing as well. “It said that the marked will die.”
“What does that mean?” Smithson asks, and reaches behind him for his tunic.
“We aren’t sure, but when we left our room, we saw several doors marked with an X.” Logan clears his throat again as Smithson reaches for his pants. “Maybe you should join me over here, Rachel.”
“Good idea,” I say, but Sylph won’t let me go. She tugs my hand closer to her, and I meet her eyes.
“Our door was marked, wasn’t it?” she asks.
“Yes.”
Her breathing quickens, but her voice is calm as she says, “Well, the message lied. We’re fine.”
“Maybe it didn’t lie. It said ‘the marked will die.’ That’s in the future. Maybe we’ve been selected as the next target,” Smithson says, and I look at him with new respect.
He flaps his pants at me, and I whip my head around to stare at the other side of the room while he finishes dressing.
“Maybe that’s it,” Logan says. “We’ll need to take down the names of those whose doors were marked and keep a careful watch on them.”
“Good plan,” Smithson says. “Now get out of our room so my wife can get dressed.”
I give Sylph’s hand one last squeeze and gently disentangle our fingers. “I’m glad you aren’t dead,” I say, and my voice breaks.
Her smile is gentle. “I’m glad you aren’t either.”
“Come on, Rachel,” Logan says, and then he lets go of the doorjamb and nearly pitches to his knees. Smithson lunges forward and catches him.
“Sorry,” Logan says as I hurry to his side. “Took a rock to the head last night. Still a little dizzy.”
“Who did that to you?” Smithson’s voice promises retribution, and the burgeoning respect I feel for him doubles.
“The same person who put a bloody X on your door,” I say.
Logan pushes his fingers against his temples as Smithson holds him up on one side and I support him on the other.
“Has he had any medical attention?” Sylph asks.
“Not yet,” I say. “We have to go check on last night’s guards, get the group ready to leave, and light the fire. Then he can visit the medical wagon.”
“I’ll ride in the wagon and get the medicine ready for him,” she says.
“And I’ll stay with you,” Smithson says to her, his eyes on the door as if he can see through to the bloody X on the other side.
“Thanks,” I say, tightening my hold on Logan. “We’ll see you once we get away from this city.”
I help Logan back into the hall. People leave their rooms and stare in fear at the crimson Xs sprinkled throughout the rows.
Quinn joins me on Logan’s other side, and together we weave our way through the terrified people, afraid that we’ll discover that every guard we posted during last night’s second shift is dead.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
RACHEL
People roll up blankets, fasten travel packs, and jostle each other as they maneuver into the hallway and instantly add their voices to the tumult when they see the Xs on the doors. We push our way toward the stairwell while people fling frantic questions at our backs.
Her eyes fly open. So do Smithson’s. And I suddenly realize Sylph’s shoulders are bare.
So are Smithson’s.
“Oh!” I let go of her.
“What’s going on?” Sylph asks, shoving a hand through her tousled black curls. The blanket slips.
“Ah!” I yell, and turn around to block Logan’s view. Smithson beats me to it by sitting up and yanking the blanket up to Sylph’s chin.
“What are you doing in here?” Smithson asks. His chest is covered in curly brown hair, and I can’t even look at him. Or at Sylph. Or at Logan.
I should just close my eyes and hope nobody notices while I crawl out of the room.
“There was a note. And then we saw the X. And I thought you were dead.” I find Sylph’s eyes and hold her gaze. “I thought you were dead.”
A frown pinches her brow, and she starts to sit up.
“No, no,” I say, even though she’s clutching the blanket to her neck.
“Stay down,” Smithson says.
She throws him a look of affectionate exasperation. “It’s just Rachel.”
“It isn’t just Rachel,” he says, and Logan clears his throat behind me.
“I can step out for a minute,” he says.
And leave me alone with a naked Smithson and a naked Sylph? Over my dead body.
“No!” I say, and everyone stares at me. “I mean, um, maybe we should both leave. Because clearly they aren’t dead. And they need some . . . they need a minute.”
Sylph’s hand joins mine, and I feel new calluses on her palm. I stare at our hands, her golden fingers curved around my pale ones, and the relief I feel threatens to choke me. I clutch her hand too tight for comfort, but I can’t bear to let her go.
“Why did you think I was dead? What X?” she asks.
I shake my head. The lump in my throat isn’t going to let me talk. Plus, I’m busy not noticing that no one close to me is wearing clothing.
“The tracker got into the building last night. He left a note for me in our room,” Logan says, and the strain in his voice might be due to the subject matter, or he might be busy not noticing the general lack of clothing as well. “It said that the marked will die.”
“What does that mean?” Smithson asks, and reaches behind him for his tunic.
“We aren’t sure, but when we left our room, we saw several doors marked with an X.” Logan clears his throat again as Smithson reaches for his pants. “Maybe you should join me over here, Rachel.”
“Good idea,” I say, but Sylph won’t let me go. She tugs my hand closer to her, and I meet her eyes.
“Our door was marked, wasn’t it?” she asks.
“Yes.”
Her breathing quickens, but her voice is calm as she says, “Well, the message lied. We’re fine.”
“Maybe it didn’t lie. It said ‘the marked will die.’ That’s in the future. Maybe we’ve been selected as the next target,” Smithson says, and I look at him with new respect.
He flaps his pants at me, and I whip my head around to stare at the other side of the room while he finishes dressing.
“Maybe that’s it,” Logan says. “We’ll need to take down the names of those whose doors were marked and keep a careful watch on them.”
“Good plan,” Smithson says. “Now get out of our room so my wife can get dressed.”
I give Sylph’s hand one last squeeze and gently disentangle our fingers. “I’m glad you aren’t dead,” I say, and my voice breaks.
Her smile is gentle. “I’m glad you aren’t either.”
“Come on, Rachel,” Logan says, and then he lets go of the doorjamb and nearly pitches to his knees. Smithson lunges forward and catches him.
“Sorry,” Logan says as I hurry to his side. “Took a rock to the head last night. Still a little dizzy.”
“Who did that to you?” Smithson’s voice promises retribution, and the burgeoning respect I feel for him doubles.
“The same person who put a bloody X on your door,” I say.
Logan pushes his fingers against his temples as Smithson holds him up on one side and I support him on the other.
“Has he had any medical attention?” Sylph asks.
“Not yet,” I say. “We have to go check on last night’s guards, get the group ready to leave, and light the fire. Then he can visit the medical wagon.”
“I’ll ride in the wagon and get the medicine ready for him,” she says.
“And I’ll stay with you,” Smithson says to her, his eyes on the door as if he can see through to the bloody X on the other side.
“Thanks,” I say, tightening my hold on Logan. “We’ll see you once we get away from this city.”
I help Logan back into the hall. People leave their rooms and stare in fear at the crimson Xs sprinkled throughout the rows.
Quinn joins me on Logan’s other side, and together we weave our way through the terrified people, afraid that we’ll discover that every guard we posted during last night’s second shift is dead.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
RACHEL
People roll up blankets, fasten travel packs, and jostle each other as they maneuver into the hallway and instantly add their voices to the tumult when they see the Xs on the doors. We push our way toward the stairwell while people fling frantic questions at our backs.
