Page 72 of Saints & Sinners

I leaned back, gasping for breath, and met his gaze. I felt hot and cold and weak at that moment. My head was spinning, and I was sure if Hunter wasn’t holding onto me, I’d have passed out from the sheer pain. Yet somehow, being on top of him, knowing I had control of where I was, grounded me.

Hunter didn’t look away. His eyes searched mine, lingering for a second on my lips. I could feel the warmth of his breath, see the way his jaw tensed and released, and for a moment, we just stayed there.

“You’re tougher than I thought.”

I managed a shaky laugh despite the ache in my arm. “Not sure if that’s a compliment or an insult.”

His mouth twitched in response, but his gaze didn’t soften. “Take it how you want,” he replied, voice quiet.

He reached out, brushing a stray tear from my cheek I hadn’t even noticed had fallen. His thumb lingered there on my skin just a second longer than necessary, making me forget about the pain, forget the reason we were here, just foronemoment.

I pulled my gaze away from his, glancing down at the fresh mark on my arm. The lines of the Riftkeeper brand burned faintly.

“Now you know what it feels like,” Hunter said in the most vulnerable voice I’d ever heard. I didn’t understand what hemeant by that. Was it that I now knew the pain of the Seraph blade? Or that it was as if that brand made me feel different.

He shifted, his hand slipping from my waist, and I felt a strange pang of loss. I pulled myself back, realizing the closeness had left me breathless. “We should get going.” His voice was hoarse.

I nodded, sliding off his lap and onto my seat, feeling the heat of his gaze on me even as I moved away.

“Once we’re back at the dorm, we’ll get Marnie to heal them.” He glanced at both our marks, and I nodded again, this time quite numbly.

Chapter Thirty-Six

This all felt too easy.

I’d been searching for ages, coming up empty-handed every time, and now, with a single lead, we were here following an address scribbled on a scrap piece of paper while trailing behind the fog-choked streets of England.

Beside me, Grace was clutching the note tightly to her chest, her eyes scanning the darkened streets after we’d parked somewhere far enough. The streetlights here barely worked, casting only the faintest glow against the cracked sidewalks, and the factories around us looked deserted. Fitting, I supposed, that places like this would house Riftkeeper’s.

A low building ahead of us emerged, its steel doors adorned with faded paint, leading to what appeared to be an abandoned factory. I stopped in my tracks, putting an arm out to stop Grace as my eyes trained on the door. People were trickling in—rough types, the kind who looked like they’d gone through a thing or two. None of them hesitated either as they approached the camera by the door, and each one rolled up a sleeve or pulled back the collar of their shirts, flashing something at it.

I caught Grace’s eye, her gaze mirroring the same wariness Ifelt. “Remember what I said. Keep by my side at all times, yeah?”

She nodded, and together, we made our way to the door, the weight of everything riding on this filling my chest like iron.

As we got closer, I rolled up my sleeve, revealing the fresh, faintly pulsing brand. Grace followed suit, lifting her own sleeve to show off the mark I’d given her.

The camera whirred, a soft click breaking the silence as it scanned us both. Then, just like that, the door unlocked, creaking open with an ominous groan. We stepped inside, greeted by a dimly lit corridor that led down a narrow flight of stairs while the air was thick and stale, carrying a scent that was equal parts damp earth and metal.

Grace stayed close, her hand brushing against mine as we descended the stairs. I thought about holding her but opted out at the last second, knowing that wouldn’t look so good in front of psychotic bastards.

“Everything okay?” I asked, even though she was already glancing around, wide-eyed and quiet, taking in everything like she didn’t trust a single brick of the place.

She gave me a small nod, drawing in a deep breath. At the end of the corridor, a steel door waited, guarded by a guy who looked like he bench-pressed demons for fun. His beady eyes zeroed in on our brands, then flickered to our faces, lingering just a second too long on Grace.

I felt her shift closer to me—barely but enough. Instinct kicked in, and I tilted my head just slightly, locking eyes with him. No smile. No blink. Just a silent promise that if he so much as breathed wrong, he was done.

He must’ve gotten the message because, after a tense pause, he stepped aside with a grunt and a nod.

The reality of this place struck me immediately as we stepped inside. It was darker and more twisted than anything I could have imagined. Rows and rows of cages lined the walls, each one holding whom I assumed were Celestials. Their faces were beaten, eyes hollowed while some Riftkeeper’s stood by cages, sneering as they poked them with makeshift weapons. Others had actual Celestial weapons, shining dully in the dim light like they were trophies of their victories.

My stomach turned, and I fought the repeat of my fry-up from coming up my throat. Nearby, a crowd cheered as two Celestials were forced to fight each other, while around the corner, someone was using a red-hot iron to brand the Celestials with their Riftkeeper mark.

Hunter must have sensed my shock because he leaned into me and murmured, “You’re fine; don’t worry. Just stay close.”

I nodded, swallowing hard and trying to keep my expression neutral, but it was impossible to hide the horror twisting my guts into knots. Everywhere I looked, there was suffering, all orchestrated by people who seemed to take joy in it.

We pushed through the crowd, glancing at the cages as if, somehow, we’d find Aaron here among them. But with every step I took, believing a human could survive a place like this became that much harder.

---