Page 117 of A Liar's Twisted Tongue

“It’s not supposed to be endearing!” I whisper, “You know I can’t find my mom without you.”

“I see.” He nods his head while he takes another sip. “Within all the time I spent waiting for you to tell me you need me, this partnership has turned stale.”

He drops the bottle, fakes a frown, and turns away from me, walking to the door, no doubt to open it and kick me out. I grab his wrist. “Please.”

He looks down at me. “Another thing I was waiting for. Should’ve made a bucket list.”

“You wanted me to plead?”

“No,” he shrugs. “I wanted to see how long it would take you to learn basic manners.”

I let go of his wrist and take a step back. “What’s going on with you?”

“What’s going on with me?” He laughs.

“Yes! What is going on with you?” I shout.

“My sister is in a coma!” he shouts back. “And you,” he points at my chest but doesn’t make contact, “how long have you been lying to me?”

Oh shit. “What?” I say, try to laugh a little, make it seem like what he’s just said is the most outrageous thing I’ve heard. “I’ve never lied to you.”

“On the day we first tracked your mother?” he offers.

“Besides that day, never!”

“Okay,” he slurs. “Then tell me the truth and I’ll believe you. Tell me who you are, and I’ll stand beside you.”

I’m Desdemona Althenia. I’ve been running my entire life. I’ve never once told someone who I am.

I’m from the septic. I’ve murdered three. A few more in my dreams.

When the moonaro came close, the whispering that I told you are migraines became louder than they ever have.

And then I lied, because I’m a liar too.

I don’t know how to show myself.

I don’t know how to handle being seen, because there’s this part of me that swears to the gods, that once I am, I’ll lose everything again. Because that’s how my life goes.

I’ve never once gotten to keep something.

But being alive means being unknown, and despite my feelings against it, this is the single most important person to keep at arm’s length. So I look him in the eye and instead, I say, “I’m exactly who you think I am.”

Lucian scoffs. “You know,” he sighs, “your left hand clenches when you lie.”

Does it really?

“Does not.”

“Does.”

I step back. “And how exactly did you figure this out, Aibek?”

His entire face stiffens. “Because I happened to enjoy looking at you.”

“Happened?” I echo.

“Happened,” he confirms.

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