Page 173 of Until We Burn
I then take off my heels and quietly pad up the stairs.
That’s when I hear soft conversation behind agong’s bedroom door and the beep of his heart monitor.
My shoulders tense up and the door creaks open. I grind to a halt when I see Jonathan and Gregory step out.
“There you are,” Gregory drawls.
“Had a good time at Stella’s?” Jonathan asks. Despite how unassuming he’s trying to be, I see the way his eyes narrow at me.
Stella’s warning echoes in my head:Keep your guard up. Just because the boys are knocked down doesn’t mean they won’t use their distance to an advantage.
“Yes,” I lie. “Stella and I had a nice time catching up at dinner tonight.”
Jonathan cocks his head as his hands glide into his pockets. “Youknow, we’ve always been curious as to how you managed to keep Sophia out of trouble on your own.”
“Surprised that women can be competent?”
Jonathan scowls. “I spoke with an expert,” he snaps. “He said that in order to erase all traces of our conversation with Sophia on DXMessenger, someone had to access her phone. Since the two of you hardly talk and you weren’t living here, it’s interesting how you managed to get Sophia’s phone to do all of that.”
Fear pricks my heart. “What are you getting at?”
“I’m getting at the fact that Stella isn’t the only person you’ve been talking to.”
My pulse beats so hard, I can barely hear the words coming out of my mouth.
“You’ve been watching her, haven’t you?” I seethe. “I swear to God, Jonathan, if you hurt her again?—”
“Hey.” Gregory holds up his hands. Unlike Jonathan, he hardly looks fazed. “There’s no need for such talk. We just wanted to catch up with our little sister.”
He smirks at me before he and Jonathan step aside to cleave a clear path for me. I warily walk past them to reach bàba’s office. I can feel their gazes linger on my back. Feel the hairs behind my neck rise.
But it’s not because of them.
It’s because I hear the heart monitor in agong’s room flat line.
CHAPTER 69
DIANA
Four Months Later
Bàba’s grieflingers all the way to the beginning of April.
The mansion mourns with him. Incense burns from the prayer table like it has been for the last four months. It clings onto my clothes, my skin, the air I breathe.
Any hope of telling bàba the truth about Kai and my decision to leave the HMG died the moment agong did.
He took bàba’s composure with him, too. If he was aggressive and explosive before, he’s unpredictable and volatile now.
“This script is garbage.”
Bàba tosses the papers onto his desk with a scowl that makes me tense.
“We made the necessary changes you suggested,” I answer measuredly. “You had read this over in January.”
“If I had read it over, I wouldn’t have approved it.”
My hands curl into fists. Bàba’s mind has been spiraling ever since agong’s death. Pieces of his memory are so scattered and broken, he’s like a record player with damaged grooves that can no longer be read the same way.
