Right before I take a right to my room, he says, “I’ll be here whenever you’re ready to talk.”
“Fuck off,” I bark, before hurrying to my room. I hope the message was strong enough to make him stay away. I am going to the catacombs with or without Archyr tonight, and I don’t need Lorne poking around.
A quick shower later, I slip into my pajamas and climb into bed, tugging the covers to my chin. Not even the scorching heat of the water could wash away the coldness Archyr seared onto my heart. He played me like a fiddle and broke all the strings before I could learn the music.
Sleep comes at once, throwing me in the middle of my usual dream of the golden-eyed woman with long black hair. This time, she takes me foraging through the woods, telling me which fruits I can eat and which I shouldn’t. She’s so gentle, so calm, so happy. I wonder who she is.
Someone raps on the door, jolting me awake. I ignore the first three times, but the sound is incessant. My eyelids reluctantly pull apart. At first, I don’t note anything odd, but one glance at the window and I am on my feet. The sun is long gone, and Lorne—who doesn’t understand personal space—is surely wondering whether I’ve had dinner.
I barely turn the handle when someone pushes their way in.
Archyr presses me against the wall adjacent to the door, one hand palming my waist and the other on my mouth. He glances at the closed door, then back at me, slowly shaking his head. What is he doing here? Our bargain is over; he was crystal clear. What more does he want?
Two gentle knocks startle me. “Viola?” Lorne.
Archyr looks into my eyes, then slowly slides his hand away from my mouth. My heart pounds against my chest, the earlier frost thawing into something I have no business entertaining. He nods at the door. I think he wants me to say something, and I try to speak, but no sound comes out. I am ensnared in this moment, ensorcelled by him. My gaze trails to his mouth, and the shadow of a smirk grazes his perfect lips, tellingme that he knows. His fingers close around my waist, and I can feel the warmth of his touch through the thin fabric of my pajamas. Gods, I hate him.
“Viola.” Lorne’s voice comes through again. “I saw the door close as I was walking past. Is someone in there with you?”
I search Archyr’s face for answers, but his smirk grows into a cocky grin, followed by a lazy shrug. By one or multiple divine interventions, I snap out of my delusion.
“I’ll be there in a second.” I don’t leave Archyr’s eyes, not when they widen when he realizes Lorne may ask to come in, not when they narrow when he realizes that he’ll have to hide in this tiny room, and not when they shift to something I cannot decipher. A warning, telling me that I’m starting something dangerous. And because I have nothing more to lose, I press the door handle.
Sylas, investigations on our end are inconclusive; leadership is arguing that the deaths were random poacher attacks— they weren’t. DOTS is pressuring Firstline to keep a tight lip because it doesn’t want more Grimm propaganda acrossThe Daily Mage. The only classes that use heirloom relics in rituals are Arkani and Mortemagi, although if bodies are involved, we already have our answer.
P.S.: Tell Lyria not to slack on her training.
LETTER FROM GRYFFIN DARRO, FIELD LEADER, RIVERVIEW DIVISION, FIRSTLINE, TO HM SYLAS ARCHYR, PATROL LEADER, SECONDLINE, NOVEMBER 1939
eighteen | sylas
MONDAY, NOVEMBER 22, 1939
Viola Corvi is playing with fire, and I have no intention of putting it out. Before that, I have to disappear. I slide into the bathroom, slip into the narrow closet on the right of the shower, and pray to the Gods that I do not suffocate to death.
“I was on my way to return your coat,” Viola says as she opens the door. “Then as I was about to close the door, I realized I forgot my key.”
Lorne ignores her. “I saw someone walk in here.”
“Yes, me. I walked back in,” she retorts. The door creaks. There’s a brief pause and a shuffle of feet.
“Lorne, I’m aware of the rules. There’s no one here.” The slight tremor in her voice stirs an unfamiliar ache in my chest. I want to shove Lorne against a wall even more than before. I hate how he forgets his boundariesaround Viola. Sure, he may be grieving, but Viola isn’t her sister. Hovering over her won’t erase what he did to Olivia; he should’ve thought twice before getting involved with Fable.
Steps echo off the bathroom walls. I hold my breath, aware that the slightest movement could give away my hideout. He stops. My mind is racing with excuses of what I am doing here. Right when I think he will open the closet door, the steps clap in the other direction.
“Random room inspections will be implemented starting tomorrow to make sure no one is in breach of Gorhail rules,” he announces.
Lorne is on a power trip; he should stick to teaching classes instead of implementing nonsensical rules. For a second, I consider bursting out, dragging him to the Poisoned Stairwell, and letting the ghosts have their way with him.
“Would you like to inspect the toilet as well? How about under the bed? In the drawers? Perhaps within the fiber of our uniforms then?” Viola asks dryly. I’m fighting a smile. Shedoesknow how to be funny, after all.
Lorne pauses. The bastard is considering it. Then he warns, “You’re new here, so you may not know that it is strictly forbidden to have guests—”
“And yet here you are,” she interrupts him. I swallow a laugh.
He stammers, and I imagine Lorne’s mouth is opening and closing like a fish out of water. “Viola.” He lowers his tone, and I wish he would swallow his tongue. “I’m sorry. I… I want to make sure you’re safe.”
“You should’ve made sure Olivia was safe,” she says, and I hear more steps and a door open. “Now, leave.”