Page 169 of Fallacies

I pour this one quickly, raising it to my mouth even faster. At the initial burn heating my throat, I sigh, sinking back against the couch cushions.

Without flames in the fireplace, the room is lit only by a dim lantern by the bedside, the silvery light of the half-moon, and a few stars. It’s dark enough in here that I have the illusion of feeling hidden. Not as exposed as I’d feel in a bright room.

“Deception smells sterile,” the Hound explains, “and it’s almost always accompanied by guilt—which smells of grease. But you don’t feel guilty lying to me.”

I keep my gaze straight ahead, content to drown myself in this glass and then another. My face pinches at the next mouthful.

The Hound shifts in his seat. “And that’s a problem, because you and I are supposed to be on the same team.”

I roll my lips together, anger swelling in my chest, tightening my jaw.

I’m not angry at him. I’m not even sure I’m angry at Callan. Childishly, I’m mad at my parents, and I feel ashamed for even thinking that way. I’m upset that my entire existence had a purpose I was unaware of and had no say in. The Lure was just the breaking point. One final piece to the puzzle that is my predestined life.

I was always going to wash up on that beach. The Lure in my necklace probably pulled me straight to Callan, and it has likely been nudging me in that direction ever since. Yet another thing that was decided for me.

The discovery of the Lure doesn’t bother me as much as the possibility that Callan’s known about this whole time.

Learning how to find me with the Lure was one of the first lessons I’d taught him.

“Lucina,” the Hound prompts, and my irritation reaches a fever pitch.

“Salem,” I fire back, breaking my stare with nothing to finally meet his gaze.

He stiffens, falling unnaturally still. Any previous tone of arrogance vanishes, and his slow blink back is the only proof I have that he’s still breathing.

I take another sip of my drink. “That is your name, is it not?”

“It is.” I watch his jaw work, crystal gaze narrowing on my glass. “It’s just been a long time since I’ve heard someone else say it.”

I watch him for a moment, shoulders falling. It’s hard to imagine him as a prisoner—chains, overgrown hair, dirty ivory skin. His pristine appearance now makes it difficult to picture…with his perfectly styled hair and spotless black clothes.

The Hound doesn’t walk around with armor. He doesn’t need it. He is the weapon. He is the thing you’d keep in a sheath at your side, and it’s the easiest thing in the world to look at him and wonder how the hell I could help him.

But that was before I learned that my existence is purely an experiment. Salem knew that before Grey had told me, and considering everything else I learned tonight—I wouldn’t be surprised if Callan knew too.

It’s more than irritating; it’s humiliating. I’m not even sure how to voice the feeling.

Finishing off the rest of my drink, I pour myself another. The heated burn soothes the feeling, giving me enough courage to ask: “Do you know anything about Lures?”

My question is followed by a brief silence, and when I look over at the Hound, I can tell he isn’t trying to come up with an answer. He’s trying to figure out why I’m asking. “I know they’re rare and hardly used,” he replies.

“Why?”

His gaze narrows. “Because they’re powerful,” Salem explains. “Lures draw two things together, but then it keeps pulling. Close isn’t close enough. It’s never satisfied.”

The sound I let out is something between a snort and a laugh.

Every time Callan and I touched. Every time we kissed. Every time he left and I longed for him to come back…had all of that been the Lure?

What I feel for Callan isn’t as simple as the way I’m drawn to him. It can’t be.

Setting my drink down, I run my fingers over the warm silver pendant before lifting it off my chest. The metal glints in the moonlight, as unsuspecting as it’s always been.

Learning how to find me with the Lure was one of the first lessons I’d taught him.

I slide my fingers along the chain, searching for the clasp.

There’s no way Callan knows. No way he has known this whole time.