Page 135 of Dance of Thorns

Melinda is working upstairs.But itismy dad’s house, and it’s not like the downstairs apartment is locked. I also rationalize that I won’t be poking around in Melinda’s room, just the rest of the place, which is fair game.

Sort of. Kind of. Right?

I further rationalize it with the same argument I gave Bane: this was my fuckingsister. I have a right to know if she knew about me, and to follow any and all threads that might lead me to the answer.

There’s nothing in Agatha’s old room, not in any of the boxes still there, or in the closet, or the ensuite bathroom.

Lark’s room is the same. Not a thing. I even check behind the framed Van Gogh print that’s still on the wall, just in case.

Nope.

Not in her closet, under the bathroom vanity, or behind the toilet or radiator. The kitchen cabinets and drawers are empty, and there's nothing behind the refrigerator. I comb through every nook and cranny of the living room, the hallway, the broom closet and the dining room. I untape every box and shake out every book.

Bane exhales as he leans against the wall of Lark’s mostly empty old room, save for an empty bookcase and her old, bare desk. “I think it’s time to admit defeat.”

I nod, but then think of the one place I haven't checked.

“I’ll be right back.”

“Stop,” he growls as I make a beeline for Melinda’s room. “No,” he hisses, grabbing my arm. “We’re fuckingdonehere. We’re not breaking and entering?—”

“I’m notbreakingor even entering!” I blurt. “I’m just going to peek inside, and see ifmaybe?—”

“Maybe what?” he snaps. “Maybe they’re tacked up on the wall?”

“What do younotunderstand about this?!” I scream, whirling on him, shaking, my throat tight. “Do you know what it’s like to lose someone and not haveanyfucking idea if they?—”

“YES!!!” he roars, so loud that I jump back.

Fuck.

“Yes,” Bane spits venously. “Yes, I fucking know how that goddamn feels!”

I drop my head.

“I… I'm sorry,” I whisper, dragging my eyes back to his. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

He looks at me with quiet intensity, slowly shaking his head. “Can you just…” he smiles wryly. “Can you just please leave this?”

“No,” I whisper hoarsely as tears bead in my eyes. “I can’t.”

Without another word, I turn and walk to Melinda’s bedroom door. My breath is shaky as I reach for the knob. But the second I touch it, the door swings wide open, like it wasn’t latched at all..

“What the fuck…”

Melinda’s room looks like it’s been ransacked.

Torn to pieces.

Every dresser drawer is open or completely yanked out, their contents strewn across the floor. The bed is tipped over, the bottom of the mattress and the pillows slashed and their stuffing ripped out. The nightstand lies broken on the ground, together with the glass shards of the lamp that was on it. A reclining chair in the corner looks like a tiger attacked it, and the things in herbathroom cascade out the door and across the floor of the main room.

“Get behind me.”

Bane firmly pulls me away from the doorway and steps into the room, his eyes darting to every corner. He checks behind the upturned bed, looks in the closet, then the bathroom.

He glances back at me, his face grim.

“I don’t suppose Melinda has any enemies?”