Page 152 of A Liar's Twisted Tongue

“You don’t,” his words are sharp. “Getting out alive is winning.”

“Theoretically, how do they die?”

“The only thing I’ve heard can kill them is taking their life force, but no mortal orphia can hold theirs.”

“There are only mortal orphia.” I can’t hide the strain from my voice. That heat is turning to anger really fast.

“Does Cynthia still work at the academy?” he asks.

“The headmistress?”

“She’s a headmistress now?” He laughs. “That’s good for her.” I think I hear sarcasm.

I stand up, but I don’t walk away. “Will I ever see you again?”

“I’m not your dad,” he whispers. “That’s for your sake.”

Doubting that he’ll see it, I nod once and turn away. The tears that have been building fall down my cheeks, and I wipe them all away on my sleeve before I open the trap door.

And lucky for me, Lucian is waiting just outside. I close the door before I look at him, scowling. “What do you want?” I sniffle, hyper-aware of my eyes that are probably rimmed with red. It’s only now that I notice the stench of vesi.

“The truth.”

“You. Know. Everything!” I scream so loud it shakes my eardrums.

He nods once, stepping closer to me. The rain coats his hair, dark, loose curls falling into his eyes.

“What do you want?” I force the words out.

Lucian’s eyes look into mine almost the way they used to and he whispers, “Your very existence has torn mine to shreds. I want to know what you’ve done to me.”

Good. He told me I was haunting. I hope I’m haunting him still. I hope these thoughts of me take him to his grave.

I like that I’m a nuisance for him. I want to be worse.

I want to be his ruin.

“I want you to have never come here,” he says with a hint of finality.

I can’t help but laugh. It’s bitter in my throat. “You think that I don’t? All I’ve thought about, every day, since I got here was getting back home!”

“All you’ve thought about?” He smiles the kind of smile that makes me want to slap it off. A kind of smile that doesn’t belong on a boy who seconds ago told me I’m tearing his existence to shreds. But, despite that, he leans closer to me, sending chills down my spine when he whispers in my ear, “Because I’m fairly certain your mind was on… other things while we were dancing.”

I shiver and hope that he’ll blame it on the rain and my soaking wet clothes—not his voice.

“It was.” I slam my forearm into his chest, and he hits the wall with a satisfying groan. I lean into him this time, looking up. “I was thinking about every way I could make you want me.” I cock an eyebrow. “And how to weaponize your longing.”

I wish that were the truth. I wish I’d thought so far ahead.

This time when he smiles, I memorize the hint of pain in it.

“I don’t believe that.”

I wish he’d fight me back, just to give me a reason to take this further.

“Just remember that you’ve already played your best move against me.” I eye him up and down purposefully. “And you have no clue what mine will be.”

“Perhaps the truth could inspire you, Marquees, because I can always see what you’re going to do next. And it isn’t nearly as pretty as you are.”

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