Page 62 of Heart of Thieves

“Yes,” I say. “Would you like to come with me? Give Arden Brig-watching duty?”

“Oh yes. While we’re out, I can get a few parts I need . . . Aha! This should do it.” She holds up a wrench and salutes me with it. “I’ve half deconstructed a T025 engine, and Enzo’s not going to love it if I leave my mess all over the hall. Catch you in the morning?”

“Good luck.”

Once she’s gone, I drop my gaze back to the hidden compartment.

Why did Enzo hide that book? Could it have something to do with me?

Perhaps this is how things will always be between us. He lies, and I lie, and we pretend things are fine even though we both know they’re not. How long can our heart hold two lives pulling so hard against each other?

No, not our heart, I correct myself as I shuffle out of the treasury.

Mine.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

NIC

Laurel meets me at the apartment door after my argument with Enzo, ferocity in her eyes.

“Mind telling me what that was?” she asks, voice measured even as her fists clench. “I told you to convince him to stay away from the game, not rehash your childhoods.”

I grit my teeth to keep from rolling my eyes. “You were warned. He doesn’t listen to me, and he doesn’t like me.”

“Why didn’t you push harder? Tell him someone was threatening his Tentacles or something?”

I sigh, pulling off my fedora and hanging it on the doorknob. “The more he’s pushed, the more likely he’ll do exactly the opposite of what he’s asked.”

She scowls. “Your weakness where he’s involved is going to be your downfall.”

Enzo’s words reverberate in my head like a tuning fork.

Let me make my mistakes. Let me own them. They’re not yours to carry.

I purse my lips. “Whether he enters shouldn’t affect our efforts. He isn’t the heroic sort.”

Her mouth thins, but she doesn’t argue. Instead, she treads to the kitchen, where a pot of fragrant soup bubbles.

“You made that?” I ask, coming up behind her, letting my hand graze along her lower back. Perhaps she’ll take that as an apology. The last thing I need right now is to confront Enzo again, especially if he’s watched the secret I gave him. Any mention of it with Laurel observing would undermine everything.

She ladles a scoop of thick stew into a bowl for me, which I thank her for and settle in, watching her stiff movements out of the corner of my eye. As I eat, I mull over what she revealed earlier—that not everyone is equally open to her control. What makes someone easier for her to puppet? What is it about me that facilitates her access?

When the moonshard broke and cursed me, it drew on my years of deception, pretending—even to myself—to be someone I wasn’t. With Enzo, he was a thief through and through, and the moonshard built that into his power and curse.

So what might the shard have seen in Laurel when it broke?

I think back to the terror in her eyes as the starlight melted her skin. Could it have fed on her fear? Panic has the ability to stop us in our tracks, to make us flee or fight or freeze. Could it be she’s more able to access the people who are the most afraid?

I mop a hand over my face. Something is not quite fitting. Like there’s a piece I haven’t considered.

My mind drifts to the church, to Lola glaring like she wanted to incinerate me—and to the fear in her eyes that feeds the flames of her anger and her ferocity.

If Laurel catches on to the fact that Lola can channel both my brother’s and my magic, there’s no telling what lengths she might go to take control of that.

Laurel settles into the place beside me and begins spooning chunks of potato into her mouth, avoiding my eyes. But her left hand settles on my knee. A peace offering. Perhaps not forgiveness, but understanding, at least.

What if Enzo isn’t enough to protect Lola during the game? Or, worse, what if Laurel controls him, too?