Page 144 of Burn Like An Angel

RIPLEY

AGAIN – NOAH CYRUS (FEAT. XXXTENTACION)

Watchingthe breaking news slogans filter past on the TV screen, I’m only half-heartedly paying attention. Balled-up, failed sketches are scattered all around me. I can’t focus long enough to create anything decent despite my return to a medicated equilibrium.

We had the chance to request items via Warner and his colleagues. I’ve since learned they’re one of several investigative teams within Sabre Security. He’s part of the Anaconda team, who’ve now been assigned to us.

The charcoal pencil clenched in my hand leaves a black smear, staining my fingertips. I shouldn’t be watching the news. If Xander were here and not having his brain picked at HQ, he’d unplug it at the wall.

“Incendia Corporation’s president, Sir Joseph Bancroft, had this to say to our reporters this morning.”

The exaggerated voice of the newscaster catches my attention. I can hardly stomach seeing Bancroft’s wizened, wrinkle-linked face and sagging jowls take up the screen.

He wears a fine, navy-blue suit, the deep silk accents showing off his diamond tiepin. Behind him lies a disgusting display ofwealth. His vast, old money estate is hidden deep in the Cheshire countryside.

“Blackwood Institute will be open again soon after significant refurbishments to repair the damage. We hope to return to normal operations at Priory Lane and Harrowdean Manor in the near future too.”

Pain lances my hand. Startled, I look down and find the charcoal pencil snapped, the sharpened tip digging into my palm. Unclenching my fist, I flick my eyes back up to the TV.

The obnoxious flash of reporters snapping photos fills the screen as Bancroft climbs into the back of a fancy town car. Their yells are unanswered. He doesn’t address the accusations thrown at him and the chauffeur service drives him away.

I attended a lavish fundraiser at his country estate once, forced into a hideous velvet gown by my uncle’s stylist. The thirty-bedroom monstrosity was bustling with famous faces and well-lined pockets that night.

It turned my stomach even then.

Now it’s fucking intolerable.

A click draws my head up as the news report switches off. Standing behind the sofa I’m curled up on, Lennox peers at me in an assessing way. He places the remote control down.

There’s something different about him today. He looks heavier somehow, a sad kind of darkness making his pale irises appear dull in a sharp contrast to the shiny, vibrant pink scar on his face.

“Are you okay?”

Rolling his lips, he glances over me. “Would you come somewhere with me?”

“Like… go out?”

Lennox nods.

“Is that allowed?”

“I’ve cleared it with the team. Warner’s guy, Ethan, will drive.”

Unlike Xander, Lennox doesn’t lock his emotions away when he doesn’t want anyone to see them. He’s always been an easy read, it’s just the only story his face ever told before was one of gut-punching anger.

Now there’s a tale of grief written across his slumped facial features and bag-lined eyes. Even his clothing is gloomy today, an all-black shirt and fitted sweatpants combination that makes his golden skin stand out.

He has washed and styled his hair, though, like he wants to make some effort. The messy brown locks are pushed behind his ears in a semi-tidy pile, revealing the silver ring in his left ear.

“What’s going on?”

“It’s… my sister’s birthday today.” He slowly trails a finger along the back of the sofa. “I’ve never been able to visit her on her birthday. Figured I may go.”

“I’m so sorry. I had no idea.”

Canine sinking into his pillowy lip, Lennox looks away. “I just don’t feel like going alone.”

Setting my sketchpad and charcoals aside, I sit up on the sofa so I can lean over and reach him. Lennox keeps his gaze averted as I wind my arms around his neck to tug him closer.

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