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“The girl. The one from the rain that you asked me to let in. She’s upstairs, sir.”

Samuel has been employed here for years. I’m not sure how he ended up stationed in this place in an eternity of service, but he seems to make the best of it.

I move quickly to the elevator, wishing it to move faster. When the doors open, I slam the key card against the box and jam the button for the penthouse. It feels like the ride takes years when it’s only mere seconds. I collect myself before the doors glide open, and I stride into the living room with as much careless confidence as I can muster.

I don’t see Josie anywhere, only her boots lying in the center of the floor. She knows how to make herself comfortable, and I smile at the thought that she might feel that with me.

“Josie?” I call out. There isn’t a response, but I notice the door to my office is open. The light is off, but the sun shines a panel onto the hardwood floor.

I tread lightly down the hallway, wanting to see her before she sees me. I look into the room, and there she is in all her chaotic glory. She’s cross legged and barefoot looking like an angel. She’s wearing buttery soft leggings and a tank top, brazenly showing her scars. Her head is leaning down, a curtain of ice blonde hair covering my view of her beautiful face. I can’t see the book in her hands, but she is engrossed in it.

“I see you made yourself at home,” I announce.

“Where did you get this?” Her tone is accusatory.

My confidence falters. “Get what?”

“This.” She thrusts a book in the air. It’s an old worn papyrus book that is almost falling apart. Some of the pages stick out at odd angles from ages of misuse. The book is written entirely in Tartarian Tongue, which no one speaks.

“A very old book?” I still don’t understand.

“I’m not a fucking idiot, Aedon.” I don’t like the way she says my name, but I’m grateful she said it at all.

“It was a gift.”

“From whom?” she demands.

I peer down at her over my nose. “You sure ask a lot of questions for someone who barged into my home.”

“Sam said you didn’t mind. You told me I was welcome.”

“Sam? So you’re on a nickname basis with the doorman?”

“Stop deflecting.”

“From…” I don’t want to say it. It’s my greatest shame. “A conquest.”

“I thought you acted bored, and that they had no personality,” she growls. There’s a hint of jealousy.

“No one to be jealous of, love. People give gifts when they want your affection even when you don’t give it. I’m positive you’re familiar with the concept.”

Her face flushes, but her misplaced anger seems to take over. “Where did she get it?”

“I don’t know, honestly.” I hold my hands up in surrender and approach her carefully, sitting against the bookcase next to her. With gentle hands, she closes the book and runs her finger along the handwritten script on the front.

“Are you familiar with it?” I venture to ask.

“Of course, I am. It was read to me.” She rolls her eyes, acting as if everyone in the world speaks a language that’s been lost.

I can’t act too eager, or she’ll spook. “Your mother read it to you?”

“I don’t know my mother.” She doesn’t look away from the book. She’s always speaking in weird riddles. “We used to have one just like it. I thought it was the only copy.”

Flags raise in my mind, and goosebumps erupt on my skin. It would be just like Eris to give me something like this. Something stolen and rare. A treasure.

“Can you read it?”

“Can’t you?” she snaps, as if I’ve said something so impossibly mundane that she can’t fathom it.