zadie-maclain:
Light green eyes bored into him. No, through him. She stared, dressed in a red wool coat, the gray sky overhead robbing both of them of all color. She didn’t blink.
Hi.
Zadie turned on her heel and left.
Seven hours later Sharpe house. She threw a rock at his bedroom window, like she’d done as a teenager. Zadie had pretty good aim, thanks to Ollie and his penchant for games, and the stones landed squarely on the middle pane before dropping back to the ground. The air was cold, but she wasn’t. She’d worn a scarf that time.
Zadie waited, watching the moonlight illuminate his face as he came to the window, the shadow as he stepped away. Lights didn’t come on in the house – they hadn’t when they were kids, trying not to wake his parents. They didn’t now, either.
He stood in the doorway, she on the lawn. She didn’t move closer.
“You’re supposed to be dead.”
I thought you were.
Darkness was something that Samuel had become accustomed to recently. He felt it growing inside of him. An unfamiliar feeling. One that could have only been brought on by one reason. War. He stood in his doorway, one hand on the door handle and the other on the door frame. Come in. He wanted to say. This was your house too. He wanted to say. But Samuel didn’t say any of that. Instead he closed the door behind him wordlessly, stepping onto the porch and one step closer to Zadie.
‘‘Dead?’‘ Brief confusion.
Samuel hadn’t been in the midst of the battle. No, he had been too valuable to be sent out to the frontlines. Instead he had remained safely behind, the mastermind behind the attacks. The reason for such massacres that the Church of Dark inflicted on the other clans.
‘‘I heard what they did to you.’‘ Silence. ‘’I didn’t know, Zadie. I didn’t know.’’
