Page 63 of Nocturn

My hand trembled as I reached for it, devouring it in a few bites. Settling back into the bedding, my hand smacked into something. Unbelievable. It could not be what I thought. I lifted the smooth, leather-bound journal.

“Ah, Officer Egan brought that in for you when he came to inquire about you.” Branwen’s soft voice drew my gaze to her, sitting upon her bed. Egan had brought it, but it was in Lord Draven’s private library.

It cannot be the same one . . .

I ran my fingertips over the soft leather and opened the journal. It was. Upon the first page was the beautiful bloom. The curving lines were as crisp as I recalled.

The same man who had watched me writhe in agony at the hands of Al had penned such art. He had turned his back on my plea and walked out without a glance—and yet he had remembered a journal I’d asked for in passing. A monster who felt nothing would have no reason to remember at all. He’d made it clear I was nothing more than a Vessel. Both versions could not be true, and I could not make them one.

I closed the journal, the question sitting unanswered.

“What did you do to gain his regard?” A simple question, but it held weight. Vera was not wrong about Branwen’s admiration for Egan, but this was not from him. “He has never stepped foot in the feeder wing.”

“It is not from Officer Egan,” I croaked. I cleared my compacted throat.

Her cheek sank in as if she were chewing on the inside.

“You do not have to lie.” Branwen stood and brushed her palms down her sides. “I was directed to tell them when you woke up.”

Fear crowded my belly. I was not sure I could survive another round of that liquid they forced into my veins.

“Who is them?”

“You should get dressed before they come for you,” she offered instead.

She shuffled away, her slippers softly rubbing against the rug. I took a beat to breathe and stretch my legs out experimentally to get feeling back into them. My dress lay across the bottom of the bedding, and I hobbled over to it, taking my time in undressing. Fortunately, the sleeping gown was easy to unlace at the front. I tossed it on the bed and pulled on short bloomers, then slid on the corset. The panels of the sapphire dress fluttered around my legs.

Clipped steps neared just as I finished with what I could lace up. I fully expected Lord Draven.

“Egan,” I breathed, my shoulders relaxing. There was something quite comforting about the man.

“Miss Amara, I am glad you are well.” I did not miss the sweep of his gaze or the relief in it. “If you come with me, I will escort you to the alchemist.”

I backed away on instinct. “Is he going to inject me again?”

His eyebrows twitched, and he scratched his chin where there was a stubble’s worth of growth. “I believe he set up some sort of deal with Lord Vaner about you tending to the cleaning.”

“Ah,” I said, stamping down my excitement. He studied me a bit too closely. “Would you help me?” I turned my back to him, hiding the wince. I reached over my head and tugged my hair over one shoulder. The mass settled against my chest. He cleared his throat, then a touch grazed my back.

“After your duties with the alchemist, I have direct orders from His Highness to take you to your wraithling,” he said, an oddness in his voice. I could not even read his expression to decipher the tone.

“Where is . . . he?” I stuttered over my words. I was fortunate he could not see my face.

“He had to leave to handle a Hollows infestation near the West bordering the Barren.” The top of the corset tightened, pressing into my breasts. “Done.”

I turned and did not miss his gaze lingering on my breasts. I wanted nothing more than to shy away, but I kept still, chin up despite the flush heating my skin.

A woman could get a lot done if she knew how to handle men.

I hoped.

“I am ready,” I announced once I slid on my silk slippers. He motioned me forward, and Egan followed in my steps, a looming shadow to keep me in line.

“How did you get the alchemist to agree?” he suddenly said, startling me into slowing until he matched my pace. “The curmudgeon does not allow any other to touch his things. Or be near his things.”

“I am not sure.” It could have been a variety of things, but they were all speculation.

“You have charmed even him.” Egan kept his piercing focus on me, and I could not look away.