Page 65

What did it mean?

She bit the tip of her tongue before the question fled from her mouth. She’d asked Avi about Ronin and himself being mages, and he’d unskillfully avoided the topic. He would surely do the same this time around.

The days that followed, Naia couldn’t stop dwelling on the portrait and the tattoos.

Ronin took her to the café each morning, and before going in, she’d analyze the painting on the brick for clues. No matter how hard she stared at it, she couldn’t decipher the enigmatic woman’s features.

“Who painted it?” Naia asked Ronin as they walked out of the café with their coffees. They strolled down the sidewalk, through the misty morning, toward his car.

Ronin shrugged and tipped his head back to drink his brew. His hair was tied up and the movement lured her gaze down to the lone freckle and mysterious scar, inches below his ear on the side of his neck.

When he did not verbally reply after his drink, she rolled her eyes, cursing his regularly mute morning routine until his coffee kicked in.

“I have a few long meetings today,” he said once they were halfway to the brewery. “It’ll be Avi and Noah working since Tuesdays are never busy. If you need me, have Avi text me, okay?”

Since their night at the jazz bar, Naia caught herself more times than not resting her arm against his while they prepared dinner in his kitchen, or laying her head on his shoulder, feigning tiredness, as they watched a movie on his couch. Those small progressions came with Ronin tugging on the end of her hair in moments of playfulness, or reading a book from his shelf, distracted by the kindling of her skin, only to look up and find his twinkling gaze on her from across the room.

For the past few days, their moments had been few and far between due to his busy schedule.

Naia picked at the plastic lid of her cup; the contents of her iced coffee close to being gone due to her lack of self-control. “I will be fine.”

Throughout the day, Avi upgraded her from pouring beer to bussing tables. Tuesdays weren’t busy for the brewery either, but still a steady stride of customers entered through the doors, accompanied by well-appreciated lulls.

Business picked up around dinnertime.

Naia moved in a repetitive routine requiring little thought as to what she did. Transfer dirty dishes to the tub. Spray cleaner. Wipe.

It became a habit to subtly scan the surrounding faces in the room. She made sure none resembled any familiar aura of unwelcomed deities.

At the brewery’s front were two large windows. She gathered her tub and weaved between customers to pass by it, only to pause and peer out to the large city buildings, wondering if Finnian was anywhere nearby. Did he know she was here? Could he sense her? He was a High God. Surely, he…

Don’t assume things.

If Finnian knew, he would’ve come to her already. She was sure of it.

When Friday night rolled around, she opted for a bathroom break, and snuck through the door she had seen Ronin consistently going in and out of all week.

The charity event was less than a day away, and she had a strong feeling the tattoo of the woman meant something.

Light on her feet, Naia paced down the long stretch of empty hallway. She came up to another large window providing a clear view of a large, metal building across a gravel patch of road. The pull-chain doors on the sides of the structure were open wide, and inside Naia could make out massive steel vats and several people strolling from one side of the warehouse to the other.

Avi had mentioned the taproom and offices were in one building, and the brew room and storage rooms were in the warehouse.

Naia came to an intersection in front of her—a staircase. She gauged right and then left, ultimately relying on the pull of her intuition to guide her.

She chose right.

As she ventured further from the taproom, doubts filled her mind. What if she couldn’t find her way back? What if she?—

A door up ahead shot open, and she had to stop herself from plowing into it. She sealed her spine to the wall.

Without a backward glance, a gentleman in a suit walked briskly in the opposite direction and disappeared around the corner.

Naia slumped against the wall and stared at the door he came out of.

She glanced the way she’d come before slipping inside.

The small flight of stairs indicated it was in the brewery’s basement. They led into a high-rise room where two floors connected by a mezzanine, and opulent chandeliers dangled from the lofty ceilings.