Page 254 of Shadowman

Sighing, I return it to its hiding spot in the back of the closet, gazing over all of the possessions that aren’t mine. Things that belong to Officer Chevelle and his partners…

Byron came back from his trip to the prison both overflowing with emotions and completely empty. He shuffled through the doors of the mansion like a lifeless husk. ButIsaw what no one else could; he was gripping the bloody and battered remains of his heart in his hand, desperately trying to hold it together. To keep it beating.

He’s grieving over so many things right now, and I simply don’t know how to help him. I don’t know how to prove to him that he can trust me, short of revealing the depths of my depravity, and unearthing the secrets of my past. And I’m stillterrifiedof doing that. Not for superficial reasons… I’m certain he’d be nothing but accepting and supportive.

But I just can’t be yet another thing that burdens him. I can’t… lose him to my demons.

Disregarding the deranged insecurities overwhelming my thoughts, I pick up a rumpled garment from the floor of the closet. I hold it up, revealing a uniform shirt with a tag that readsOfficer Chevelle, and give it a quick sniff.

Yum. Smells like a giant Muscle Daddy who’s too headstrong for his own good.

Something falls out of the shirt, landing on the floor. It’s a collar, but not the same kind Byron and I are wearing. This one is much less outwardly deadly.

It’s black leather, adorned with what looks like barbed wire along the outside. Upon closer inspection, I discover that the barbed wire is actually made of silver or platinum. It appears custom-made, beautiful, and likely very expensive. A diamond-studded pendant hangs from a loop on the front, engraved withProperty of The Ivoryon one side, andJ.C.on the other.

Wow…

“Trev??” Byron’s voice calls out from outside the room somewhere. “You coming down?”

“Be right there!”

I quickly wrap the collar back up in the shirt and stuff it into the closet with the cellphone. Then I scamper off to join Byron for lunch.

Things are growing more peculiar with every second spent in this mansion, surrounded by drama and a rich, massively complicated history.

Downstairs, Byron and I attempt to eat, but it’s difficult with all the commotion. The Ivory’s army has been stomping around like Stormtroopers since the prison fell, and as much as we’ve been trying to ignore it and go about our lives as normally as we can, it’s quite distracting. Their presence is a constant, glaring reminder that thingsaren’tnormal, and at this rate, I doubt they ever will be.

For me, it’s not much of a concern. Normality was never something I’ve had. For the few years following my release from Riverwoods, when I wasgetting my life together, so to speak, I’d been trying it on for size. But deep down, I knew it was a pipe dream. I was desperately chasing something I knew wasn’t meant for me.

And how about that? I feel the same way now, for something else. Orsomeoneelse…

“What’s so great about being normal, anyway?”Leo scoffs.

I continue to ignore him, though on some level, I agree.Normalis boring; we all know that.

On the other hand, I’ve been fighting for survival myentirebloodylife. I can’t deny that it felt good to play pretend—go to work, settle into a comfortable relationship, dull the mania in my head. I rather enjoyed the serenity that comes fromroutine.

When I was young and living on the streets of New York City, I used to pray for monotony. I would dream about dull days while bouncing from place to place, with danger lurking around every corner. Fear and a forever-racing pulse, sleeping with one eye open…

What I wouldn’t give for some beautiful boredom, I would think.

And I had it for a bit there. With Alice, my job at Zen, my cozy little studio apartment on Killian St… But of course it didn’t last. Because I’m not meant for it.

I’m destined to be forever immersed in pure, unadulterated anarchy.

Byron, however, is struggling with this. After all, he’s gone from prison—the ultimate tedium—to constant unrest. And because he’s Byron, he’s dealing with it in the only way he knows how… By shutting down.

Byron is an island. He’s this rock we’re existing on personified.

My gorgeous warrior has retreated into himself, returning to the quiet, sullen lump of isolation he was before I opened him up. I can’t say I blame him… I just wish there was something I could do.

Something that doesn’t involve infecting him with the disease of my existence, that is.

A flurry of voices and noise, more excessive than usual, draws our attention up the hall, and we rush to go see what’s happening.

Bloody hell, what now??

It’s coming from the study, which has been converted into something of an infirmary to treat woundedsoldiers. I wish I was exaggerating, but bullets have been flying around the woods between the mansion and the prison for the better part of a week. Not to mention, Felix Darcey is still at large, creeping around out there, attacking The Ivory’s men like some adorable rogue guerrilla assassin. Because of that, it’s become necessary for the East Wing doctors to have a designated area where they can act as combat medics.