Brynleigh grabbed both books off the desk and the small black case she kept in the drawer, stuffing all three items in a tote bag.
Slinging it over her shoulder, she went back the way she came. At the door, Brynleigh paused and took in the bedroom one last time. She didn’t think she’d ever return.
This was her past, and Ryker was her future.
Part of her wished she could regret her time in this place. She certainly regretted that her Maker had used and betrayed her. She even regretted that she’d been planning to kill Ryker.
But Brynleigh couldn’t find it in herself to wish that she’d never been Made. It was only because of her Making that she’d met her husband. She never would’ve been Selected to participate in the Choosing otherwise, nor would she and Ryker have fallen in love.
Now that they were together, she couldn’t imagine a life without him.
No, she would never regret anything that had brought her to Ryker, except for Chavin’s destruction. She would give anything to turn back the hands of time and save her family and all the others who perished that watery night.
But since that was impossible, Brynleigh would do the next bestthing and focus on stopping the Black Night. Her family was beyond saving, but the rebels had shown that they didn’t care about the cost of a few lives to get their point across. Every time they attacked, they put someone’s mother or father, someone’s brother or sister, or someone’s loved one at risk.
Those nameless people, those families that were still intact, were the reason Brynleigh was still fighting.
Problematic as the Representatives were—and they were fucking problematic, she wasn’t ignoring that—the rebels were worse. Their solutions relied on death and destruction.
Brynleigh might not have been a political scientist, but even she knew that wasn’t the right way to encourage change.
No. The Black Night needed to be stopped. That’s why she was here.
At the reminder of her purpose, Brynleigh straightened. She couldn’t waste any more time. Jelisette could be back any second.
Slipping out the door to her old room, she paused in the hallway and extended her senses. If she were anywhere else, she’d cloak herself in shadows, but those wouldn’t protect her from her Maker.
She didn’t hear anything out of the ordinary, but her skin crawled all the same. The air was cold, and death waited around every corner.
She was alone… for now. Brynleigh had no way of knowing how long Jelisette’s appointment would be.
Thanking Isvana for vampiric speed, Brynleigh blurred through the hallway, ending up at the door to Zanri’s office in the blink of an eye. She jiggled the doorknob, testing it.
Locked.
She’d expected that, but part of her had hoped she’d be wrong. All the doors in the safe house were warded against shadows, so there was only one thing left to do.
Reaching into the tote bag, she withdrew the black lock-picking set Zanri had gifted her several years ago.
Brynleigh popped it open, thankful that the feline shifter had taught her this particular skill. Her first attempt at lock-picking had been laughably horrible, but she’d practiced tirelessly until she could open any lock in under a minute.
Holding her breath, Brynleigh quickly set to work. The goddess of the moon must have been smiling down on her because seconds later, the locks tumbled.
She rose to her feet, opening the door.
Zanri’s woodsy scent slammed into her like a ton of bricks. It was strong from the hours he’d spent in here, but behind it were traces of something cold and off.
This space, more than any other in the safe house, made Brynleigh feel sick. Or maybe it was just the memories of Zanri’s broken body in Moonwater Prison that made holding back her tears even harder.
Either way, Brynleigh couldn’t shake the feeling of wrongness burrowing its way into her. It was in the air.
In the house.
In her soul.
Goosebumps pebbled on her arms, and she shuddered.
Wrong.