He waves me away.
As I leave to go in search of Meg, relief punches through me.
I’ve been rightly wary about Sully’s motives. He knows I’m hiding something. But unlike Miguel, he’s chosen to leave well enough alone. For that, I’m glad. Because tossing my particular closet open will reveal putrefying skeletons.
The first of which would explain why I don’t respond well to Elly. Before arriving in New York no one called me by that name.
My real name is Elyse Gilbert, nicknamed ‘Lucky’ by the waste of space who briefly labeled himself my father, because according to him, I’m the unluckiest person alive, and I’ll die the same way I came into the world: naked, screaming, and dirt poor.
So far, he’s been right about the unlucky part. Also dead right about the dirt-poor part.
But what he didn’t predict was that at twenty-two, I’d be on the run for arson and murder. Or that one of my hunters would possess the single goal of trying to pry my secret from me before he puts me in the ground.