The school year has now come to a quiet end, and I’m clearing out my room. Tossing whatever I need into the suitcase, half-focused, half-exhausted. I’m not going home. Not this time. I’ve arranged to spend the end-of-year holidays in Russia, near the Siberian Wastelands. The situation there’s deteriorating, movement from beyond that shield is growing, and if I can help, I will.
It’s something to do, somewhere to be, and the best part, it’sfar from memories of her.
I reach for the pile on my desk and grab the old sketchbooks I haven’t touched in months. I hesitate, my thumb brushing the worn edge of the cover, but the familiar itch to start sketching has vanished. The spark that once ignited my hands is gone. I don’t want to sketch. I don’t want to remember. I scowl and toss them straight into the bin.
Something slips out as they fall. A small envelope lands against the toe of my boot.
My body tenses when I recognise it.
I bend down and pick it up slowly, my fingers curling around the paper I once held like it meant something. My heart kicks once, a traitorous beat, and I hate it for that. I stare at the envelope for a moment longer than I should, memory threatening to breach the silence I’ve wrapped myself in.
But I don’t let it.
The lightning comes fast, flickering across my palm, the envelope catching fire. I drop it, watching as the flames race across the paper. The photographs slip out, curling at the edges as they burn.
One lands face up right in front of me. It’s her, kneeling in front of the bike, helmet on, with wings.
So she did have wings. I didn’t imagine it that one time.
I let out a humourless breath, almost a laugh, but full of scorn.
I watch the fire consume the image, just as easily as she destroyed what we had.
When nothing remains but blackened paper, I step on it and grind it beneath my heel until it’s nothing but dust.
Then, without a second thought, I reach for the lid of my suitcase and shut it.
I’m about to zip it up when my door slams open behind me.
I turn sharply, every muscle tensing as Brock barrels into the room, breathless, his eyes wide and heart pounding so loudly I can hear it.
I frown. “What is it?” I ask.
He swallows, struggling to speak, “It’s- It’s your brother.”
Unknown POV
I flick throughthe file in my hand, a faint smile ghosting my lips. The bell signalling the end of lessons for the day rings through the school halls, reaching me loud and clear.
Finally, I have this, and they won’t even know what’s missing. I’ll just keep doing what I’m doing, and no one will ever find out. Crouching down, I slip the package I’m holding into my hiding spot, rolling up the papers and sliding them into my inner jacket pocket.
I glance up at the statue before me, hidden away from all eyes and yet right in front of everyone.
Silently, I turn and walk to the library, a place I visited for months, searching, reading, thinking, all leading up to the papers I now have, and no one is any the wiser.
I walk through the shelves, finding myself in front of theforbidden section. It was never in here. Leo isn’t fool enough to put important things in places prone to being broken into, but he’s not the only smart one around.
Now to deal with one last annoying problem… I remain where I am, waiting.
Suddenly, the lights go out. It’ll only be this part of the wing, nothing obvious or big, but enough to shut off a couple of cameras. I don’t have long to get this over with.
He’s been getting close.
Moving swiftly, I leave the library and head down the hall until I step into a narrower hall when I spot him, and by the looks of it, he was coming for me because he stops when he sees me, his eyes glowing.
“So, all this time, it was you.” His accusation rings through the quiet hall, his eyes hard.
“Ares,” I say, as if I’m bored.
