Page 11 of Run of Ruin

The thought made my stomach twist.

I already felt guilty enough for even speaking about my brother’s condition. But it wasn’t fake. It wasn’t. And I wouldn’t let myself become someone who lied just to win hearts and airtime.

I sighed and sat up, raking my fingers through my hair. Sleep wasn’t coming. My mind was a hive of too-loud thoughts and too-late regrets.

I remembered the glint of amber liquor in Nova’s glass earlier that night. Maybe a drink would help. It had been a long time since I’d had anything stronger than desert water, but the idea of a warm haze dulling the sharp edges of my brain sounded blissful.

I quietly slipped out of my traincar, pulling a knit cardigan around the frankly vulgar black silk night dress that Nova said was mine. I was suddenly terrified to see the rest of my Praxis issued wardrobe. But at least I had this thick sweater. The wool was soft and warm. I’d never owned anything like it. The train was quiet, humming and swaying gently in the moonlight. Shadows stretched long across the floor, and I padded softly, barefoot, through the narrow hallway toward the dining carriage.

I rounded the corner near the bar, the soft gleam of moonlight from a cracked window barely lighting the way, just enough to make out silhouettes.

And I collided with one. A solid, unmoving wall of muscle.

I stumbled back with a sharp breath, nearly yelping, but before I could make a sound, strong hands grabbed my arms, steadying me.

“Easy,” a deep voice murmured.

I looked up and met Ezra’s fierce, shadowed eyes.

For a second, neither of us moved. The moonlight paintedhis face in half-light, outlining the sharp angles of his jaw. There was a faint scar along his brow, and quiet intensity in his expression.

His grip on my arms lingered, not tight, not possessive, just anchoring. Warm.

“I- sorry,” I breathed, heart still hammering from the scare.

“What are you doing out here?” His voice was low, rough as gravel. This was already the most I’d ever heard him speak.

“Couldn’t sleep,” I admitted, my voice quieter than I meant it to be. “I was… going to get a drink.”

He didn’t let go right away. And I didn’t step back. Something about the moment stretched. Stilled.

I was suddenly aware of everything, the way his fingers brushed lightly against my arms, the way his eyes searched my face. The fact that he wasn’t wearing a shirt and his muscular chest was on full display didn’t help.

“Me too,” he said finally.

“What?” I responded, shaking my head and trying to focus.

“Couldn’t sleep,” he clarified. “Thought the bar might be less crowded at midnight.”

A corner of my mouth lifted, a half-smile. “I guess great minds drink alike.”

He huffed a quiet laugh through his nose, finally releasing my arms. “Come on then.”

And for some reason, I followed. Maybe it was the promise of the liquor. Maybe it was that I didn’t want to be alone anymore.

Or maybe it was just him.

I trailed behind him, studying the dark black sleep pants that hung low on his hips, and his toned back as we made our way to the bar, careful to keep a respectful distance this time. The last thing I needed was to barrel into him again like somenervous wreck. He didn’t speak as we walked, but his presence filled the space between us like heat from a campfire, quiet and hard to ignore.

When we reached the bar, he pulled out a stool and gestured for me to sit. I hesitated, then climbed onto the seat, clutching the edge like it might steady the tremor of nerves humming just under my skin. Without a word, Ezra slid behind the bar like he’d done it a hundred times before, pulling two mismatched glasses from a shelf and lining them up neatly on the counter.

“What’s your poison?” he asked, voice low and edged with a hint of dry humor.

I opened my mouth to answer, but stopped. Not because I didn’t know, but because the question felt different coming from him.

My eyes drifted to the bottle he was holding, then to his rough hands. For the briefest of moments, I remembered what I knew about the other Canyon candidates. The criminals. The poison. The death. And now here I was. In the dead of night. Alone. With another convicted criminal pouring drinks.

It suddenly occurred to me that I should be afraid.

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