Page 190 of Burning Daylight

I stare at the wall, my throat thick. “Love you, kid.”

“Ditto.”

We hang up, and for a second, the world stills.

Then I slide the phone back in my pocket, and everything starts moving again.

Juliette. Frederick. My father’s legacy. My mother, missing.

And me, somehow still standing in the middle of it all.

My fingers curlaround the holes of the trellis as I climb up the side of the house until I can swing my legs over the railing of Juliette’s balcony.

It’s late.

And quiet.

Part of me is worried that her doors will be locked and I’ll have done all of this for nothing, but it’s a risk I’m willing to take. I have to know that she’s okay.

She wasn’t at the gala, she wasn’t at Upside Down Rock… This is me hoping she’s here.

I know I should stay away. Should focus on what the hell I’m going to do next, but there’s a high chance I might end up dead before morning, and I can’tnotsee her one last time. And I’m a little on edge, worried that Frederick might do something insane like use her to get to me.

Slowly, and as quietly as possible, I walk across her balcony until I’m facing the double French doors, my reflection gleaming in the windows. Swallowing, my hands tremble as I reach out and try the handle.

The door clicks open immediately, and I blow out a large sigh of relief, my nerves quieting as I open the door and walk inside, my eyes immediately searching for her.

Her room is large, a four-poster king bed in the very center and detailed crown molding around the edges of the walls.

At least two of my entire studio apartments could fit in here with space to spare, and it hits me fully, maybe for the first time, that she’s grown up in this atmosphere, and I’m just now learning how to embrace it.

How, if I somehow make it out of this alive, I’m going to have an empire to take over, and a legacy to fix.

“Juliette,” I whisper into the dark.

Nobody answers.

My breath catches from the type of fear that creeps in with cold fingers and grips your spine. Each step is slower than the last, my pulse a staccato rhythm beating in my ears.

The shadows seem to bend around me as I move deeper into her room, my gaze scanning the area until I land on the shape of her on the bed.

She’s not moving.

I step closer and her outline sharpens. An arm is draped over her blanket, her hair spilling like ink across the cream pillow.

She lets out a tiny snore, and my legs nearly collapse.

I press a hand to the nightstand just to stay standing, the sudden rush of relief blurring my vision.

Juliette’s here. She’s safe.

The pale light of the moon streams in through the windows, kissing her skin, and I swear I’ll spend every moment for the rest of forever thanking God that she’s all right.

She looks so innocent when she’s this way, and my heart physically cracks in my chest knowing that when she wakes up in the morning, her world is going to break in two. And I can’t take her away from mourning her cousin. From her family.

Not like this.

How fucking naive were we to think that running away would solveanything?