Page 25 of Flame and Fury

Wren blinks at me, looking stunned. I straighten and take a step back from her. I never forget where I’m at. Never forget to keep all those pieces of me close. I might flirt and use my charm when it’s necessary, but that’s all a show. Wren makes me forget myself.

Wren and I are quiet for the rest of the trip back to Hades Hideaway. Turtle uses another route. There’s a good chance I could find our way back to the room where we met with the Boar, but I doubt he’d be there. He hasn’t escaped capture by staying in one place for too long.

The weather has gotten worse since our trip to meet the Boar. The short moments we’re outside are miserable. I can barely see my nose in front of my face and the wind is blowing so hard the buildings are rattling and moaning against the assault.

Sylvie is waiting for us at the back door of the Hideaway. Turtle leaves us there with a deep, booming goodbye before he disappears back into the swirling tornado of snow. Wren kicks the slush off her boots before stepping into the back hallway of the bar.I do the same and I yank the door shut behind us. Once we’re back in the front of the bar, I note that no one else is here. The sleeping man from earlier is gone.

We need to come up with a plan. We can’t just stroll into the theater and tell them we aren’t bringing the Boar in. I don’t know if anyone has ever thrown in the towel on a challenge.Will the gods accept that we couldn’t find the Boar. Can we even tell them that we gave up on our search?

Wren peers out the front window and shudders. “It’s not going to be fun to walk back to the theater in that.” She looks ready to cry. “I’m soggy and cold and my skin is pruning. I’m sick of wearing these heavy-ass boots and my pants are too tight and this stupid coat smells like a barn animal rolled around in a dirty puddle.”

I raise one brow. That was quite the complaint-ridden speech. “Are you all right?”

“I’m hungry. And everything is…moist.” Wren hisses out the last word like she’s disgusted.

“Everything?” My brow lifts a little higher.

“There’s no way.” Sylvie interrupts, sliding two plates onto the bar, each overflowing with a burger and fries. “That’s at least a category four blizzard. The storm will pick you up and carry you away. You’re gonna need to wait it out inside.”

Wren stares at the burgers and groans loudly. Her eyes drift between the food and the front door. The look on her face changing from delight to torture. Her stomach growls, lasting a solid twenty seconds.

“She’s right,” I say. “I doubt any of the champions are going to be back tonight in this mess. Besides, your body might start consuming itself if you don’t eat something soon.”

As if on cue, Wren’s stomach growls again. She presses a hand to her belly and glares at me.

“Come on. Eat before you turn into a monster.” I pull out a stool in front of one of the plates and Wren sits down without argument.

Wren digs in like she hasn’t eaten in days. She attacks the burger like everything else, with complete determination. Sylvie’s stacking glasses and putting things away for the night. Is she keeping the bar open so we can hang out here? I’m tired, but the thought of sleeping in one of the booths isn’t appealing.

Wren has her burger in both hands, and a blob of ketchup drips to the plate. “What’s your favorite meal?” Her eyes stay on my face as she takes a massive bite.

“What?” My fries are gone, and I steal one from Wren’s plate. She slaps my hand away and protectively slides her plate closer to her.

“Your favorite thing to eat. What is it?”

“Why?”

Wren rolls her eyes. There’s some mustard on the corner of her mouth and the world blurs around me when her tongue darts out and licks it away.

“I was curious about something other than your champion stats. Never mind.” Wren turns forward with a huff as her meaning sinks in. She’s asking a personal question to get to know me. It shouldn’t knock me off kilter, but this marks a shift in how the two of us talk. Our conversations are always about strategy or related to the games or the Underground. This is different.

“Mac and cheese,” I murmur, and Wren brings her eyes back to me.

“Drake has a family that cares about him. They’d come by the training compound every couple of months and always brought home cooked food with them.” Drake’s family was a force to be reckoned with. He’d signed up for training because anyone with god blood in their ancestry could earn a generous bonus. Drake’s parents were dead, and he wanted to provide for his siblings. His sister was furious, but she never missed the opportunity to visit.

“The mac and cheese was always my favorite.” There was very little comfort at the compound, but sharing a meal with Drake’s family is one of the only fond memories I have of the place.

Wren gets a faraway look on her face, her whole demeanor softening. “My dad used to make pancakes in funny shapes. He was horrible at it, so they always looked like weird blobs. It didn’t matter because it made us laugh.”

Neither of us talk while we finish the rest of our meal and it’s the most content I’ve ever been.

CHAPTER15

WREN

Atlas’s story about Drake’s family, mac and cheese, and my father’s pancakes are swirling in my head when Sylvie calls out. “We’ve got a spare apartment upstairs. You guys can crash there for the night.” She doesn’t bother looking up from the bar she’s wiping down.

I freeze and try not to look at Atlas. Me and Atlas. Crashing in the same apartment for the night. Sure, why not.

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