Her glare could burn a hole through me, but I don’t waver.
I’m looking down at her, patiently waiting. She sits up and slings her legs over the side of the bed, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.
She reaches for her boots, and I think she must be sleepier than I expected because she hasn’t even dressed yet. And then she chucks it at me.
There’s no power behind it, it’s more of a toss, so I catch it easily before it hits me in the chest instead of my head, which I’m sure is where she was aiming.
My kitten is not a morning person.
I quirk an eyebrow at her. “Somebody’s a grumpy ass this morning.”
“And you’re a deranged kidnapper with a god complex,” she grumbles, walking like a zombie toward the bathroom to brush her teeth.
Note to self: orgasms only keep her soft for me for approximately sixteen hours.
I guess that just means I’ll have to give them to her more often.
“I’ll be waiting on the porch,” I place her boot back by the bed and turn to leave to give her privacy to dress for the day. “You might want to wear your hair up.”
Her head pokes out of the bathroom to glare at me again.
I don’t bother explaining further. She can hate me all she wants for this and everything else, but I’m not letting her stay behind to tempt fate again.
Fifteen minutes later, we’re trekking across the half-frozen island.
She doesn’t say much, which suits me just fine. Her silence is better than her vitriol.
Maybe I should let her freeze half to death more often, too.
Her footsteps are determined, though, crunching angrily through the icy sand as she keeps up with my pace.
At the lighthouse, I drop my tool bag onto the workbench and start unpacking it.
“What is this place, anyway?” she asks, arms crossed as she glances around.
“It’s a lighthouse,” I say, fighting a grin.
Her eye roll is practically audible. “Obviously. But what do you do here? What’s the point of it?” She looks around skeptically, like she knows it’s not just for lighting the way for passing boats.
“A little of everything. Maintenance, mostly. Making sure the light works, that the systems are running properly. It’s old, so it needs a lot of attention,” I reply, opening a toolbox and pulling out a set of pliers.
“Sounds riveting,” she mutters, leaving out what I know she’s probably thinking—that wasn’t what she was asking.
But neither of us is in the mood for me to show her around the stashes of drugs in the walls.
Just thinking about them makes my stomach churn. The Assembly poisons everything it touches, and this island is no exception. It’s not just the power they hoard or the secrets they bury—it’s the way they sink their claws into every vice, every desperation, every weakness.
The drugs are a reminder of that. A reminder of the filth I’ve been complicit in, regardless of how I felt about it. I tell myself I never had a choice, but that doesn’t make it any easier to stomach. It doesn’t make it any less sickening to know that, in some way, I’ve had a hand in it.
I want no part of it. I never did. But wanting and reality are two different things, and the reality is that the drugs are here, woven into the very bones of this place. And as much as I want to tear them out and make a bonfire of them, it’s not that simple.
I smirk. “Don’t worry, you’ll get to experience the excitement firsthand. You’re helping me today.”
Before she can protest, I hand her a pair of gloves and a small wrench and gesture for her to follow me.
Her scoff echoes off the walls. “You’re kidding.”
“Nope. Consider it a lesson in staying busy.” I can think of plenty of other ways to keep her busy, but for now, this will have to suffice.
