Page 112 of The Grandest Game

What did it matter that she’d spent more nights than she could count looking out into the darkness, waiting for Very Bad News to reappear?

What did it matter that he’d called hersunshine?

“I have until noon, right?” Gigi said.

Xander grinned. “For the ease of my future compositions, please tell me that whatever you have planned rhymes withValhallaorcheesesteak.”

Gigi gave Xander a look. “You’re not going to ask what I’m up to?”

“Like I said, I’m a man of many talents.” Xander slung an arm around her. “Among them, I give excellent platonic snuggles, and I know whennotto ask.”

Chapter 81

ROHAN

Rohan didn’t plan on spending more than four of the twelve hours between phase one and phase two of the game sleeping. He’d never needed as much sleep as other people, and years at the Mercy had honed his body and mind to operate on even less.

There were better uses for his time—such as determining his next move.Five players left. Another challenge incoming.With Savannah on his side, at least for the moment, Rohan could practically taste victory.

Stepping into the shower, he offered his face up to the spray, then began drawing on the steamed-up glass—with his finger this time, instead of a knife.

Knox Landry, the knight—gone. Same for Odette Morales, bishop, and Gigi Grayson, pawn. There was, however, a player to be added.Grayson Hawthorne.

Rohan’s instincts said that Grayson was not a piece to be played but a player. A threat. Rohan settled on the infinity symbol torepresent the Hawthorne in the game, then considered what he knew of Lyra Kane.

There was something there besides the way she looked at Grayson and the way Grayson looked right back at her, something raw and maybe even desperate. Something that could prove useful, once Rohan pinpointed exactly what it was.Her father? Those notes she found.

That just left Brady Daniels.What is his game?Rohan meditated for a moment on that.How will he play?

Brady Daniels.

Grayson Hawthorne.

Lyra Kane.

Eventually, Rohan’s mind went to Savannah. Their alliance was, without question, his best chance of neutralizing Grayson and thereby Lyra.

There was just one matter to be settled between Savannah Grayson and Rohan first.

“I know you’re there, British.” Savannah spoke through the thick wooden door.

Rohan dragged a finger lightly around the ornate bronze keyhole on that door—the door to Savannah’s room in this glass puzzle house. “You only know I’m here because I didn’t bother masking my approach.”

The door opened, and there she was, no longer wearing the ice-blue gown. Savannah’s hair was wet, her body wrapped in a towel the same frosty shade as the gown.

Careful, boy.It was not often that Rohan heard the Proprietor’s voice in his head, but he heard it now.You know quite well how to recognize a trap.

“The Hawthorne heiress.” Rohan ignored the towel. “Avery Grambs.”

“You think you’ve figured something out, do you?” Towel-clad, wet-haired Savannah could not have sounded any less impressed.

“Almost all of it,” Rohan murmured.

Savannah stepped back, allowing him entry to her room. Rohan walked past her, well aware that, alliance or not, he was in enemy territory.

“I almost turned on you, down at the dock,” Savannah said behind him. “It would have been easy enough.” Rohan heard her lift her hand, most likely to touch the jagged ends of her hair. “It was a dare,” Savannah said, not specifying that she was the one who’d issued that dare.“He did it—with a knife.”

“No lies there,” Rohan commented dryly.