Page 90 of The Truths We Burn

But she’s still living inside of me like a parasite, feeding on me.

The calmness in his movements almost pisses me off more. The way he lazily drags his eyes up to mine, making direct contact.

“I’m not saying you would, Rook.” He pauses. “Not intentionally.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means you’re impetuous. You act hastily, and you are driven by your desires. I trust you. I don’t trust your emotions.”

I roll my tongue across my teeth, nodding sarcastically. “Go eat another dictionary, fucking prick,” I grunt. “I don’t need to be a robot in order to be in control.”

I’m done with this conversation. I’m done with this session.

Stepping away, I turn around, heading for the steps that lead to the upper portion of the house, where everything is warm and homey, unlike what lives beneath it—this cold, emotionless place that Thatcher dwells inside of.

“If I figured it out, it won’t be long before the others do. Don’t let them, us, find out from someone else, Rook. If we don’t have trust, then we have nothing,” he says to my back, making me pause at the top of the stairs.

I rotate my head, just enough to look over my shoulder, down the incline at the well-put-together man at the bottom.

“Thatcher, why the fuck do you care?” I ask. “Let’s be honest here—you don’t care about anything. It’s loyalty for you, that’s it. So why the hell do you care about me and my personal shit?”

I’m not the only one with secrets, and I’m sick of him acting like I am. Alistair has them, Silas, and so does Thatch. He probably has more than any of us. One time in our friendship he’d opened the vault and told us about his father.

About how he found out, what he saw as a little kid.

How he’d stumbled upon his father’s garage and all the things inside. And once that happened, once his father caught him, Thatcher had become a protégé. Henry Pierson is a smart man and created a way for him and his legacy to live forever—turning his innocent child into a serial killer prodigy.

Thatch never told us what his father made him do, what he made him watch, but I can guarantee it wasn’t cartoons.

The silence goes on until I hear his voice, still and steady,

“I get to hurt you. Alistair can hurt you. Even Silas can. But no one else.” He stops, just a moment before continuing. “No one else gets to hurt you, Van Doren. No one.”

Sage

“Alistair is going to slaughter me.”

I don’t bother disagreeing with her. When he finds out she was lying about where she was, he might just kill us all.

“He’ll be alright. It’s not your problem that he’s copping out this year. Doesn’t mean we have to miss out on the fun.” I say.

According to Briar, the Hollow Boys are opting out of this year’s game. Briar had balls lying to him, telling him she’d be in her dorm with Lyra all night. I hope for her sake and mine he never knows any different.

“Are you guys sure about this?” Lyra asks. “Last year, people ended up in the hospital.”

“Don’t freak out. It’s just a game. How bad can it be?”

I let Briar’s question hang in the air.

I’m not sure how to answer, because I know once the Wastelands find out about the guys not participating, they’ll be even more vicious in their pursuit of victory.

The wind hits me harshly in the face, making me shiver. It may be the first day of spring on the calendar, but there won’t be any blooming of flowers in this chilly weather. The snow stopped weeks ago, but the cold lingered and will for another several weeks.

Spring means bright colors and fresh sunshine. Here it just means a different shade of gray.

I walk in the middle between Briar and Lyra, all of us bundled in warm clothing: boots, beanies—Lyra’s even sporting a dark red scarf. We have no idea how long these games last, but we know the temperature will only drop the longer we’re outside.

We watch as several people in front of us pile through the inactive security gates that normally scan you for illegal objects. Tonight, they’re just another obstacle. I press my hands into the cool metal, vaulting myself over the spindles and onto the other side, ready to follow the small crowd inside the park.