Torment

THREE SIXTEEN DAYS

“Okay, hit me, what’s the weirdest thing about Shoreline so far?”

It was Wednesday morning before class, and Luce was seated at a sunny breakfast table on the terrace, sharing a pot of tea with Miles. He was wearing a vintage yellow T-shirt with a Sunkist logo on it, a baseball cap pulled down just above his blue eyes, flip-flops, and frayed jeans. Feeling inspired by the very relaxed dress code at Shoreline, Luce had swapped out her standard black getup. She was wearing a red sundress with a short white cardigan, which felt kind of like the first day of sunshine after a long stretch of rain.

She dropped a spoonful of sugar into her cup and laughed. “I don’t even know where to start. Maybe my roommate, who I think snuck in just before sunrise this morning and was gone again before I woke up. No, wait, it’s taking a class taught by a demon-and-angel couple. Or”—she swallowed—“the way kids here look at me like I’m some legendary freak. Anonymous freak, I got used to. But notorious freak—”

“You are not notorious.” Miles took a giant bite of his croissant. “I’m gonna tackle those one at a time,” he said, chewing.

As he dabbed the side of his mouth with his napkin, Luce half-marveled, half-chuckled at his occasionally impeccable table manners. She couldn’t help picturing him taking some fancy etiquette course at the golf club as a boy.

“Shelby’s rough around the edges,” Miles said, “but she can be cool, too. When she feels like it. Not like I’ve ever witnessed that side of her.” He laughed. “But that’s the rumor. And the Frankie/Steven thing weirded me out at first, too, but somehow they make it work. It’s like a celestial balancing act. For some reason having both sides present gives students here the most freedom to develop.”

There was that word again. Develop. She remembered that Daniel had used it when he first told her he wouldn’t be joining her at Shoreline. But develop into what? It could only apply to the kids who were Nephilim. Not Luce, who was the lone full human in her class of almost-angels, waiting until her angel felt like swooping back in to save her.

“Luce,” Miles said, interrupting her thoughts. “The reason people stare at you is because everyone’s heard about you and Daniel, but no one knows the real story.”

“So instead of just asking me—”

“What? Whether you two really do it on the clouds? Or whether his rampant, ya know, ‘glory’ ever overwhelms your mortal”—he stopped, catching the horrified look on Luce’s face, then gulped. “Sorry. I mean, you’re right, they let it blow up into some big myth. Everyone else, that is. I try not to, um, speculate.” Miles put down his tea and stared at his napkin. “Maybe it feels too personal to ask about.”

Miles shifted his gaze and was now staring at her, but it didn’t make Luce feel nervous. Instead, his clear blue eyes and slightly lopsided smile felt like an open door, an invitation to talk about some of the things she hadn’t been able to tell anyone yet. As much as it sucked, Luce understood why Daniel and Mr. Cole had forbidden her to reach out to Callie or her parents. But Daniel and Mr. Cole were the ones who had enrolled her at Shoreline. They were the ones who’d said she’d be okay here. So she couldn’t see any reason to keep her story a secret from someone like Miles. Especially since he already knew some version of the truth.

“It’s a long story,” she said. “Literally. And I still don’t know all of it. But basically, Daniel is an important angel. I guess he was kind of a big deal before the Fall.” She swallowed, not wanting to meet Miles’s eyes. She felt nervous. “At least, he was until he fell in love with me.”

It all began to pour out of her. Everything from her first day at Sword & Cross, to how Arriane and Gabbe took care of her, to how Molly and Cam taunted her, to the gut-wrenching feeling of seeing a photograph of herself in a former life. Penn’s death and how it devastated her. The surreal battle in the cemetery. Luce left out some of the Daniel details, private moments they’d shared together … but by the time she finished, she thought she’d given Miles a pretty complete picture of what had happened—and hopefully dispelled the myth of her intrigue for at least one person.

At the end, she felt lighter. “Wow. I’ve never actually told this stuff to anyone. Feels really good to say it aloud. Like it’s more real now that I’ve admitted it to someone else.”

“You can keep going if you want to,” he said.

“I know I’m only here for a short time,” she said. “And in a way, I think Shoreline will help me to get used to people—I mean angels like Daniel. And Nephilim like you. But I still can’t help feeling out of place. Like I’m posing as something I’m not.”

Miles had been nodding and agreeing with Luce the whole time she told her story, but now he shook his head. “No way—the fact that you’re mortal makes the whole thing even more impressive.”

Luce glanced around the terrace. For the first time, she noticed a clear line dividing the tables of the Nephilim kids from the rest of the student body. The Nephilim claimed all the tables on the west side, closest to the water. There were fewer of them, no more than twenty, but they took up a lot more tables, sometimes with just one kid at a table that could have seated six, while the rest of the kids had to cram into the remaining east-side tables. Take Shelby, for example, who sat alone, battling the fierce wind over the paper she was trying to read. There was a lot of musical chairs, but not one of the non-Nephilim seemed to consider crossing over to sit with the “gifted” kids.

Luce had met some of the other non-gifted kids yesterday. After lunch, classes were held in the main building, a much less architecturally impressive structure where more traditional subjects were taught. Biology, geometry, European history. Some of those students seemed nice, but Luce felt an unspoken distance—all because she was on the gifted track—that thwarted the possibility of a conversation.

“Don’t get me wrong, I’ve gotten to be friends with some of those guys.” Miles pointed to a crowded table. “I’d pick Connor or Eddie G. for a game of touch football any day over any of the Nephilim. But seriously, do you think anyone over there could have handled what you did, and lived to tell about it?”

Luce rubbed her neck and felt tears prick at the corners of her eyes. Miss Sophia’s dagger was still fresh in her mind, and she could never think about that night without her heart aching over Penn. Her death had been so senseless. None of it was fair. “I barely lived,” she said softly.

“Yeah,” Miles said, wincing. “That part I heard about. It’s weird: Francesca and Steven are big on teaching us about the present and the future, but not really the past. Something to do with empowering us.”

“What do you mean?”

“Ask me anything about the great battle that’s coming, and the role a strapping young Nephilim like myself might play in it. But the early stuff you were talking about? None of the lessons here ever really go into that. Speaking of which”—Miles pointed at the terrace, which was emptying out—“we should go. You want to do this again sometime?”

“Definitely.” And Luce meant it; she liked Miles. He was much easier to talk to than anyone else she’d met so far. He was friendly and had the kind of sense of humor that put Luce instantly at ease. But she was distracted by something he’d said. The battle that was coming. Daniel and Cam’s battle. Or a battle with Miss Sophia’s group of Elders? If even the Nephilim were preparing for it, where did that leave Luce?

Steven and Francesca had a way of dressing in complementary colors that made them look better outfitted for a photo shoot than a lecture. On Luce’s second day at Shoreline, Francesca was wearing three-inch golden gladiator heels and a mod pumpkin-colored A-line dress. It had a loose bow around her neck and matched, almost exactly, the orange tie that Steven wore with his ivory oxford shirt and navy blazer.

They were stunning to look at, and Luce was drawn to them, but not exactly in the couples-crush way Dawn had predicted the day before. Watching her teachers from her desk between Miles and Jasmine, Luce felt drawn to Francesca and Steven for reasons closer to her heart: They reminded her of her relationship with Daniel.

Though she’d never seen them actually touch, when they stood close together—which was almost always—the magnetism between them practically warped the walls. Of course that had something to do with their powers as fallen angels, but it must also have had to do with the unique way they connected. Luce couldn’t help resenting them. They were constant reminders of what she couldn’t have right now.

Most of the students had taken their seats. Dawn and Jasmine were going on to Luce about joining the steering committee so she could help them plan all these amazing social events. Luce had never been a big extracurricular girl. But these girls had been so nice to her, and Jasmine’s face looked so bright when she talked about a yacht trip they were planning later that week that Luce decided to give the committee a chance. She was adding her name to the roster when Steven stepped forward, tossed his blazer on the table behind him, and wordlessly spread his arms out at his sides.

As if summoned, a shard of deep black shadow seemed to part from the shadows of one of the redwoods right outside the window. It peeled itself off the grass, then took substance and whipped into the room through the open window. It was quick, and where it went the day blackened and the room fell into darkness.

Luce gasped out of habit, but she wasn’t the only one. In fact, most of the students inched back nervously in their desks as Steven begin to twirl the shadow. He just reached his hands in and began wrenching faster and faster, seeming to wrestle with something. Soon the shadow was spinning around in front of him so quickly it went blurry, like the spokes of a turning wheel. A thick gust of mildewy wind was emitted from its core, blowing Luce’s hair back from her face.

Steven manipulated the shadow, arms straining, from a messy, amorphous shape into a tight, black sphere, no bigger than a grapefruit.

“Class,” he said, coolly bouncing the levitating ball of blackness a few inches above his fingers, “meet the subject of today’s lesson.”

Francesca stepped forward and transferred the shadow to her hands. In her heels, she was nearly as tall as Steven. And, Luce imagined, she was just as skilled at dealing with the shadows.

“You’ve all seen the Announcers at some point,” she said, walking slowly along the half-moon of student desks so they could each get a better look. “And some of you,” she said, eyeing Luce, “even have some experience working with them. But do you really know what they are? Do you know what they can do?”

Gossips, Luce thought, remembering what Daniel had told her the night of the battle. She was still too new to Shoreline to feel comfortable calling out the answer, but none of the other students seemed to know. Slowly she raised her hand.

Francesca cocked her head. “Luce.”

“They carry messages,” she said, growing surer as she spoke, thinking back to Daniel’s assurance. “But they’re harmless.”

“Messengers, yes. But harmless?” Francesca glanced at Steven. Her tone betrayed nothing about whether Luce was right or wrong, which made Luce feel embarrassed.

The entire class was surprised when Francesca stepped back alongside Steven, took hold of one side of the shadow’s border while he gripped the other, and gave it a firm tug. “We call this glimpsing,” she said.

The shadow bulged and stretched out like a balloon being blown up. It made a thick glugging sound as its blackness distorted, showing colors more vivid than anything Luce had seen before. Deep chartreuse, glittering gold, marbleized swaths of pink and purple. A whole swirling world of color glowing brighter and more distinct behind a disappearing mesh of shadow. Steven and Francesca were still tugging, stepping backward slowly until the shadow was about the size and shape of a large projector screen. Then they stopped.

They gave no warning, no “What you are about to see,” and after a horrified moment, Luce knew why. There could be no preparation for this.

The tangle of colors separated, settled finally into a canvas of distinct shapes. They were looking at a city. An ancient stone-walled city … on fire. Overcrowded and polluted, consumed by angry flames. People cornered by the flames, their mouths dark emptinesses, raising their arms to the skies. And everywhere a shower of bright sparks and burning bits of fire, a rain of deadly light landing everywhere and igniting everything it touched.

Luce could practically smell the rot and doom coming through the shadow screen. It was horrific to look at, but the strangest part, by far, was that there wasn’t any sound. Other students around her were ducking their heads, as if they were trying to block out some wail, some screaming that to Luce was indistinguishable. There was nothing but clean silence as they watched more and more people die.

When she wasn’t sure her stomach could take much more, the focus of the image shifted, sort of zoomed out, and Luce could see it from a distance. Not one but two cities were burning. A strange idea came to her, softly, like a memory she’d always had but hadn’t thought of in a while. She knew what they were looking at: Sodom and Gomorrah, two cities in the Bible, two cities destroyed by God.

Then, like turning off a light switch, Steven and Francesca snapped their fingers and the image disappeared. The remnants of the shadow shattered into a small black cloud of ash that settled eventually on the floor of the classroom. Around Luce, the other students all seemed to be catching their breath.

Luce couldn’t take her eyes off the place where the shadow had been. How had it done that? It was starting to congeal again, the pieces of dark pooling together, slowly returning to a more familiar shadow shape. Its services complete, the Announcer inched sluggishly along the floorboards, then slid right out of the classroom, like the shadow cast by a closing door.

“You may be wondering why we just put you through that,” Steven said, addressing the class. He and Francesca shared a worried look as they glanced around the room. Dawn was whimpering at her desk.

“As you know,” Francesca said, “most of the time in this class, we like to focus on what you as Nephilim have the power to do. How you can change things for the better, however each of you decide to define that. We like to look forward, instead of backward.”

“But what you saw today,” Steven said, “was more than just a history lesson with incredible special effects. And it wasn’t just imagery we conjured up. No, what you were seeing was the actual Sodom and Gomorrah, as they were destroyed by the Great Tyrant when he—”

“Unh-unh-unh!” Francesca said, wagging a finger. “We don’t go for easy name-calling in here.”

“Of course. She’s right, as usual. Even I sometimes lapse into propaganda.” Steven beamed at the class. “But as I was saying, the Announcers are more than mere shadows. They can hold very valuable information. In a way, they are shadows—but shadows of the past, of long-ago and not-so-long-ago events.”

“What you saw today,” Francesca finished, “was just a demonstration of an invaluable skill some of you may be able to harness. Someday.”

“You won’t want to try it right now.” Steven wiped his hands with a handkerchief he’d pulled from a pocket. “In fact, we forbid you to attempt this, lest you lose control and lose yourselves in the shadows. But someday, maybe, it will be a possibility.”

Luce shared a glance with Miles. He gave her a wide-eyed smile, as if he were relieved to hear this. He didn’t seem to feel at all shut out, not the way Luce did.

“Besides,” Francesca said, “most of you will probably find that you feel fatigued.” Luce looked around the room at the students’ faces as Francesca talked. Her voice had the effect of aloe on a sunburn. Half of the kids had their eyes closed, as if they’d been soothed. “That’s very normal. Shadow-glimpsing is not done without great cost. It takes energy to look back even a few days, but to look back millennia? Well, you can feel the effects yourselves. In light of that”—she looked at Steven—“we’re going to let you out early today to rest.”

“We’ll pick up again tomorrow, so make sure you’ve done your reading on disapparition,” Steven said. “Class dismissed.”

Around Luce, students rose slowly from their desks. They looked dazed, exhausted. When she stood up, her own knees were a little wobbly, but somehow she felt less shaken than the others seemed to be. She tightened her cardigan around her shoulders and followed Miles out of the classroom.

“Pretty heavy stuff,” he said, taking the stairs down from the deck two at a time. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Luce said. She was. “Are you?”

Miles rubbed his forehead. “It just feels like we were really there. I’m glad they let us out early. Feel like I need a nap.”

“Seriously!” Dawn added, coming up behind them on the winding path back to the dorm. “That was the last thing I was expecting from my Wednesday morning. I am so conking out right now.”

It was true: The destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah had been horrifying. So real, Luce’s skin still felt hot from the blaze.

They took the shortcut back to the dorm, around the north side of the mess hall and into the shade of the redwoods. It was strange seeing the campus so empty, with all the other kids at Shoreline still in class in the main building. One by one, the Nephilim peeled off the path and headed straight to bed.

Except for Luce. She wasn’t tired, not at all. Instead, she felt strangely energized. She wished, again, that Daniel were there. She badly wanted to talk to him about Francesca and Steven’s demonstration—and to know why he hadn’t told her sooner that there was more to the shadows than she could see.

In front of Luce were the stairs leading up to her dorm room. Behind her, the redwood forest. She paced outside the entrance to the dorm, unwilling to go inside, unwilling to sleep this off and pretend she hadn’t seen it. Francesca and Steven wouldn’t have been trying to scare the class; they must have intended to teach them something. Something they couldn’t come right out and say. But if the Announcers carried messages and echoes of the past, then what was the point of the one they’d just been shown?

She went into the woods.

Her watch said 11 a.m., but it could have been midnight under the dark canopy of trees. Goose bumps rose on her bare legs as she pressed deeper into the shady forest. She didn’t want to think about it too hard; thinking would only increase the odds of her chickening out. She was about to enter uncharted territory. Forbidden territory.

She was going to summon an Announcer.

She’d done things to them before. The very first time was when she pinched one during class to keep it from sneaking into her pocket. There was the time in the library when she’d swatted one away from Penn. Poor Penn. Luce couldn’t help wondering what message that Announcer had been carrying. If she had known how to manipulate it then, the way Francesca and Steven had manipulated the one today—could she have stopped what happened?

She closed her eyes. Saw Penn, slumped against the wall, her chest aproned with blood. Her fallen friend. No. Looking back on that night was too painful, and it never got Luce anywhere. All she could do now was look ahead.

She had to fight the cold fear clawing at her insides. A slinking, black, familiar shape lurking alongside the true shadow of a low redwood branch a mere ten yards in front of her.

She took a step toward it, and the Announcer shrank back. Trying not to make any sudden moves, Luce pressed on, closer, closer, willing the shadow not to slip away.

There.

The shadow twitched under its tree branch but stayed put.

Heart racing, Luce tried to calm herself down. Yes, it was dark in this forest; and yes, not a soul knew where she was; and okay, sure, there was a chance no one would miss her for a good while if anything happened—but there was no reason to panic. Right? So why did she feel gripped by a gnawing fear? Why was she getting the same tremor in her hands she used to get when she saw the shadows as a girl, back before she’d learned they were basically harmless?

It was time to make a move. She could either stand here frozen forever, or she could chicken out and go sulking back to the dorm, or—

Her arm shot out, no longer shaking, and took hold of the thing. She dragged it up and clutched it tightly to her chest, surprised by its heft, by how cold and damp it was. Like a wet towel. Her arms were shaking. What did she do with it now?

The image of those burning cities flashed into her mind. Luce wondered whether she could stand to see this message on her own. If she could even figure out how to unlock its secrets. How did these things work? All Francesca and Steven had done was pull.

Holding her breath, Luce worked her fingers along the shadow’s feathery edges, gripped it, and gave it a gentle tug. To her surprise, the Announcer was pliant, almost like putty, and took whatever shape her hands suggested. Grimacing, she tried to manipulate it into a square. Into something like the screen she’d seen her teachers form.

At first it was easy, but the shadow seemed to grow stiffer the more she tried to stretch it out. And every time she repositioned her hands to pull on another part, the rest would recoil into a cold, lumpy black mass. Soon she was out of breath and using her arm to wipe the sweat off her brow. She did not want to give up. But when the shadow started to vibrate, Luce screamed and dropped it to the ground.

Instantly, it darted off into the trees. Only after it was gone did Luce realize: It hadn’t been the shadow that was vibrating. It was the cell phone in her backpack.

She’d gotten used to not having one. Until that moment, she’d even forgotten that Mr. Cole had given her his old phone before he put her on the plane to California. It was almost completely useless, solely so that he would have a way to reach her, to keep her up to date on what stories he was feeding to her parents, who still believed she was at Sword & Cross. So that when Luce talked to them, she could lie consistently.

No one besides Mr. Cole even had her number. And for really annoying safety reasons, Daniel hadn’t given her a way to reach him. And now the phone had cost Luce her first real progress with a shadow.

She pulled it out and opened the text Mr. Cole had just sent:

Call your parents. They think you got an A- on a history test I just gave. And that you’re trying out for the swim team next week. Don’t forget to act like everything’s okay.

And a second one, a minute later:

Is everything okay?

Grouchily, Luce stuffed the phone in her backpack and started tramping through the thick mulch of redwood needles toward the edge of the forest, toward her dorm. The text made her wonder about the rest of the kids at Sword & Cross. Was Arriane still there, and if so, who was she sailing paper airplanes to during class? Had Molly found someone else to make her enemy now that Luce was gone? Or had both of them moved on since Luce and Daniel had left? Did Randy buy the story that Luce’s parents had made her transfer? Luce sighed. She hated not telling her parents the truth, hated not being able to tell them how far away she felt, and how alone.

But a phone call? Every false word she said—A- on a made-up history test, tryouts for some bogus swim team—would only make her feel that much more homesick.

Mr. Cole must be out of his mind, telling her to call them and lie. But if she told her parents the truth—the real truth—they would think she was out of her mind. And if she didn’t get in touch with them, they would know something was up. They’d drive out to Sword & Cross, find her missing, and then what?

She could email them. Lying wouldn’t be so hard by email. It would buy her a few days before she had to call. She would email them tonight.

She stepped out of the forest, onto the path, and gasped. It was night. She looked back at the lush, shaded woods. How long had she been in there with the shadow? She glanced at her watch. It was half past eight. She’d missed lunch. And her afternoon classes. And dinner. It had been so dark in the woods, she hadn’t noticed time passing at all, but now it all slammed into her. She was tired, cold, and hungry.

After three wrong turns in the mazelike dorm, Luce finally found her door. Silently hoping that Shelby would be wherever it was she disappeared to at night, Luce slipped her huge, old-fashioned key into the lock and turned the knob.

The lights were off, but a fire was burning in the hearth. Shelby was seated cross-legged on the floor, eyes closed, meditating. When Luce came in, one eye popped open, looking highly annoyed at the sight before it.

“Sorry,” Luce whispered, sinking into the desk chair closest to the door. “Don’t mind me. Pretend I’m not here.”

For a little while, Shelby did just that. She closed her evil eye and went back to meditating, and the room was tranquil. Luce turned on the computer that came with her desk and stared at the screen, trying to compose in her head the most innocuous message possible to her parents—and, while she was at it, one to Callie, who’d been sending a steady stream of unread emails to Luce’s in-box this past week.

Typing as slowly as she possibly could so her keyboard taps wouldn’t give Shelby yet another reason to hate her, Luce wrote:

Dear Mom and Dad, I miss you guys so much. Just wanted to drop you a line. Life at Sword & Cross is good.

Her chest constricted as she strained to keep her fingers from typing: As far as I know, no one else has died this week.

Still doing fine in all my classes, she made herself write instead. Might even try out for the swim team!

Luce looked out the window at the clear, starry sky. She had to sign off fast. Otherwise, she’d lose it.

Wonder when this rainy weather will let up. … Guess that’s November in Georgia! Love, Luce

She copied the message into a new email to Callie, changed a few choice words, moved her mouse over the Send button, closed her eyes, double-clicked, and hung her head. She was a horrible fake of a daughter, a liar of a friend. And what had she been thinking? These were the blandest, most red-flag-worthy emails ever written. They were only going to freak people out.

Her stomach growled. A second time, more loudly. Shelby cleared her throat.

Luce spun around in her chair to face the girl, only to find her in downward dog. Luce could feel the tears welling up in the corners of her eyes. “I’m hungry, okay? Why don’t you file a complaint, get me transferred to another room?”

Shelby calmly hopped forward on her yoga mat, swooped her arms into a prayer position and said, “I was just going to tell you about the box of organic mac and cheese in my sock drawer. No need for the waterworks. Jeez.”

Eleven minutes later, Luce was sitting under a blanket on her bed with a steaming bowl of cheesy pasta, dry eyes, and a roommate who’d suddenly stopped hating her.

“I wasn’t crying because I was hungry,” Luce wanted to clarify, though the mac and cheese was so good, the gift so unexpectedly kind of Shelby, it almost brought fresh tears to her eyes. Luce wanted to open up to someone, and Shelby was, well, there. She hadn’t thawed out all the way, but sharing her stash of food was a huge step for someone who’d barely spoken to Luce so far. “I, um, I’m having some family issues. It’s just hard being away.”

“Boo-hoo,” Shelby said, chomping on her own bowl of macaroni. “Let me guess, your parents are still happily married.”

“That’s not fair,” Luce said, sitting up. “You have no idea what I’ve been through.”

“And you have some idea what I’ve been through?” Shelby stared Luce down. “Didn’t think so. Look, here’s me: Only child raised by a single mom. Daddy issues? Maybe. A pain in the ass to live with because I hate to share? Almost certainly. But what I can’t stand is some sweet-faced, spoon-fed sweetheart with a happy home life and some fancy boyfriend showing up on my turf to moan about her poor long-distance love affair.”

Luce sucked in her breath. “That’s not it at all.”

“Oh no? Enlighten me.”

“I’m a fake,” Luce said. “I’m … lying to the people I love.”

“Lying to your fancy boyfriend?” Shelby’s eyes narrowed, in a way that made Luce think her roommate might actually be interested.

“No,” Luce muttered. “I’m not even speaking to him.”

Shelby leaned back on Luce’s bed and propped her feet up so they rested on the underside of the top bunk. “Why not?”

“It’s long, stupid, and complicated.”

“Well, every girl with half a brain knows there’s only one thing to do when you break up with your man—”

“No, we didn’t break up—” Luce said, at the exact same time as Shelby said:

“Change your hair.”

“Change my hair?”

“Fresh start,” Shelby said. “I’ve dyed mine orange, chopped it off. Hell, once I even shaved it after this jerk really broke my heart.”

There was a small oval mirror with an ornate wooden frame attached to the dresser across the room. From her position on the bed, Luce could see her reflection. She put down the bowl of pasta and stood up to move closer.

She had chopped her hair off after Trevor, but that was different. Most of it had been singed, anyway. And when she’d arrived at Sword & Cross, it had been Arriane’s hair she cut. Yet Luce thought she understood what Shelby meant when she said “fresh start.” You could turn into someone else, pretend you weren’t the person who’d just been through so much heartache. Even though—thank God—Luce wasn’t mourning the permanent loss of her relationship with Daniel, she was mourning all sorts of other losses. Penn, her family, the life she used to have before things got so complicated.

“You’re really thinking about it, aren’t you? Don’t make me bust out the peroxide from under the sink.”

Luce ran her fingers through her short black hair. What would Daniel think? But if he wanted her to be happy here until they could be together again, she had to let go of who she’d been at Sword & Cross.

She turned around to face Shelby. “Get the bottle.”