Page 76 of Snag
That statement, that proclamation, is like a knife to the gut.
It’s also the utter truth. And we almost missed out on all of it.
TEN
ZAYA
Dressedin my more appropriate outfit from yesterday afternoon— though with new underwear, of course— I hover in the doorway of the guest room across the hall from my own bedroom, checking in on Precious before leaving the property. She’s sleeping in the center of the bed under at least two duvets, while DeVille is sprawled bonelessly across the hardwood floor with only a pillow and single blanket, situated between Presh and the door.
I start to ease back, intent on letting the teens sleep.
Presh’s head pops up, purple eyes glowing softly in my direction. “Zaya?”
I step into the room, crossing to the young awry before she can scramble out from under all her covers.
“Is it Bellamy?” she asks in a whisper. She chews anxiously on her lower lip, sweeping her gaze across my face as if looking for the truth in my expression.
“No,” I say, skirting DeVille to reach the bed and settle on my hip at her side. I give in to the impulse to soothe her, gently running my fingers through her sleep-mussed hair. “You can get some more sleep.”
Presh hums quietly in the back of her throat, settling back on her pillow and allowing me just a moment to be with her. Then she reaches up and wraps her fingers lightly around my wrist.
“You’d tell me, right?”
I nod. “You know I would.”
Her gaze flicks to the left. Maybe toward her phone charging on the side table, but then she quickly looks away. “I know … you don’t lie to me.”
I steel myself, just a little. Because Precious must have questions. She must have a mountain of questions, cobbled together from all the time we’ve spent with each other but haven’t been able to really talk.
But she just shifts her hold to my hand and tangles her fingers through mine. Then, inexplicably, she says, “I don’t know my mom.”
“No?”
“He … the Cataclysm … he said that she left me, but … I think he might have killed her?” She starts chewing on her lip again, looking up at me through her lashes.
I frown just a little, not quite following the young awry’s change of subject. “Do you … want me to find out? You could give Coda all the information you know about her.”
Presh huffs quietly, then hums some more as if taking a moment to think about it. “Maybe. Not now.”
“Okay.”
“It’s just … I don’t have any sisters … didn’t have any sisters either.”
Ah. I see where this conversation is going. “Bellamy.”
“Right.”
“And how do you feel about that?”
“She looks like us … but … it could be another glamour, right?”
I sigh. This isn’t the best time for this conversation, but —
“You’d tell me,” Presh repeats, firmer now.
“It’s not a glamour.”
“She’s my sister.”
