A Guardian’s love will be devoted to the Glorious One and their charge, first. A love greater than that, for anyother human, prevents a Guardian from knowing the depth of their capabilities.
This is why I’m stuck at Class 3: IlikeEli. Sometimes. But a few months ago, it hit me—I’m falling for Zion. It was just one moment, in the thick of Atlanta’s endless summer. Zion in this booth, eating pie and laughing. Eyes crinkled but focused on me.
It only takes a second to destroy something or someone.
Why did I let Gabe research this for me? I mean, as a Fallen, he has nothing better to do. Politicians are obliterating all of humanity for him. But I was perfectly fine not knowing I’d have to choose between protecting Eli—to become the Guardian I’ve wanted to be—and having feelings for Zion.
Absently, my eyes find him. I lose myself in that curious gleam circling his deep brown eyes. “Something on your mind?” he asks.
You. And it’s ruining everything.
“Nope,” I squeak out.
Zion shrugs, then waves Lisa over to order—of course—a slice of apple pie. But with two forks. “We’ll share,” he says, smirking at me.
Can we share your heart?
I didn’t steal that from Netflix, I promise.
“Actually, Guardians don’t need food,” Eli announces proudly. “On Google—”
“Stay off Google,” I warn.
“Well, Micah’s having pie.” Zion’s hand bumps mine on the table. “Right?”
“Yeah” escapes my dry mouth.
“Sure, have the pie.” Eli tugs a black metal credit card from his hoodie’s front pocket. He smacks it on the table. “Food’s on me, anyway.”
Only a second passes. A fleeting silence between songs changing on the jukebox. Zion’s eyes trace over the name on the card.
Lashae Roberts
“Nah. I’m good,” Zion grunts. He wiggles around before dropping a few crumpled dollars on the table. “I can take care of myself.”
Sadness flashes over Eli’s expression. It doesn’t hold, though. He offers his brother the largest, fakest grin before putting the credit card away. But I can still see the secrets in his eyes. I don’t say anything.
I’m not allowed.
“Now,” Zion says, swiping the OJ glass. He drains half of it before asking, “Which one of you is gonna tell me about that nasty bruise on EJ’s face?”
The Robertses’ luxury apartment building is east of the diner.
Autumn’s teeth have sunk deep into the early November air. Our breaths dance in front of us—a white-smoke waltz. Darkened buildings rise over us like obsidian fingers trying to cradle the stars.
Somewhere on the way from the diner, Zion falls into step next to me while Eli leads the way. When he’s like this—a firecracker ignited by the presence of his brother—Eli moves with a rhythm in his toes. He’s smooth and light. Usually, when I watch him from a distance, he’s heavy footsteps and weighted shoulders. An air of haunting rejection follows him.
Now he’s talking excitedly while catching Zion up on all the TV shows they used to watch together. Zion doesn’t have cable or a streaming service in his apartment on the other side of the city. All four of his roommates are in college. Zion graduated from high school late, but he plans to attend. Eventually.
“You’re not cold?”
His voice surprises me. I look up. Orange streetlamps leave his skin copper like a shiny penny.
I’m only wearing a thin white thermal and black jeans and sneakers. “No. I’m okay.”
“Right!” He snaps his fingers. “Guardians don’t get cold.”
“Or hungry,” Eli announces.
