Page 88 of The Shadow Sanctum

Sawyer’s palm presses on my back to steer me from the crowd. “Come on,” he murmurs. “Let’s get you out of here.”

I let him lead me while I catch my breath.

Never have I felt so light.

CHAPTER 25

LUNA

The woods are too quiet.

Branches creak under the weight of snow, and our boots leave deep imprints in the drifts, but beyond that—silence. I should say something, ask Sawyer where he’s taking me, demand to know why he looks so intent with his hand clamped around mine. But I don’t. Words snag in my throat.

So I follow for what feels like miles, until the trees break apart and stone rises out of the earth like a jagged scar. My chest clenches before my mind catches up.

I almost don’t recognize the cave, but when I do… Time seems to grind to a halt.

My feet slow without meaning to. It hits me all at once—the dirty cell I woke up in, the drugs in my system, the taste of damp stone on my tongue. The way my body shook so violently with adrenaline, and the fear I only half faked. The first step in Sawyer’s grand plan to manipulate me. The first time I swore he couldn’t.

Here I am again. Eating from his palm the way he knew I would. I can’t even regret it.

Sawyer doesn’t have a torch, but he leads me just far enough past the mouth that the canopy and rock swallow us from above. Hidden from the drones, from the eyes in the sky. The shadows gather fast and wrap us in a hollow dimness.

I stand there, unmoving. Try to breathe past the knot in my chest. We’ve come full circle. I don’t know if it’s supposed to feel like closure or punishment.

Sawyer’s hand finds my jaw and tilts my face toward him. His eyes are steady, sharp blue in the faint light. He kisses me once, soft and unhurried, then pulls back just enough to search my face. “Are you okay?”

Am I okay?

People are dying. Lives have been lost.

The way I feel could not matter less. Still, we said no lies.

I shake my head.

Sawyer’s arms come around me and pull me into his chest. I let him. My forehead presses against the warm cotton of his shirt, the thump of his heartbeat beneath. For a long, suspended moment, it’s just that—the weight of him holding me together while the world splinters outside.

When I finally speak, my voice is muffled against him. “It’s the water. It has to be… The wells are being isolated, but I don’t know how we’ll manage as more people get sick. We’ll have to ration snowmelt, dig out channels, test everything⁠—”

“No one else is getting sick.” His voice cuts clean through mine, low and absolute.

I lean back just enough to see him. His hands are still on my arms, grounding me. His eyes burn steady into mine, and they’re all that halts a frantic tide of words waiting to rush my tongue.

“It’s not the water,” he says.

I shake my head. “How do you know?”

His mouth opens, but he doesn’t speak. Closing his mouth, he just frowns.

The air stills around us as heavy as the stone walls. My stomach flips. “What did you⁠—”

“Do you trust me?” he interrupts. Once upon a time, his trust was merely a game. Now, his eyes are dead serious.

Do I trust him…?

How could one ever trust a liar? A manipulator? A thief? As if I haven’t read Aesop’s Fables.

Sawyer and I are a couple of scorpions promising not to sting the other. It goes against our nature. It’s the biggest lie we’ve ever told ourselves.