Powerful (The Powerless Trilogy, #1.5)

by Lauren Roberts

MUNDANES Amplifier - voice projection > 100 Bluff - he detection > 200 Hyper - enhanced senses > 250 Scholar - intellectual > 100 Sight - video recording & projection via eyesight > 100 DEFENSIVE

Blink - teleportation anywhere in sight > 100 Crawler - wall scaling > 225 Healer - quick healing > 100 Illusionist - illusion creation > 100 Shield - purple force field creation > 170 Shimmer - light manipulation > 125 Transfer - infuse objects with abilities > 100 Veil - invisibility > 130 OFFENSIVE Blazer - flame manipulation > 200 Bloom - plant manipulation > 130 Brawny - physical strength > 250 Cloner - clone creation > 110 Dual - two-ability wielding > 100 Gust - air manipulation > 125 Hydro - water manipulation) 150 Ignite - explosion creation > 100 Shell - skin of stone > 125 Tele - object movement via mind > 100

Volt - electricity manipulation > 100 KNOWN RECORDED ELITES Wielder - sense and use others’ abilities within proximity - 1 FATALS - 1 OF EACH IN POSSESSION OF THE KING Controller - manipulate others - 1 Mi...

To the girls with softer dreams—your purpose is just as powerful

The biggest man I’ve ever seen is barreling behind me. Then again, it is likely that I’m exaggerating. Mama always did tell me what a curse it is to be blessed with such an overactive imagination. I would hate to proclaim that he’s the largest man I’ve ever seen if he isn’t truly worthy of the title. So, I dare a glance over my shoulder, dodging carts and jutting cobblestone beneath the boots swallowing my feet. Mama said I would grow into them. I’m still waiting for that day. No, that is definitely a giant man. The white mask he wears leaves the bottom half of his face exposed, displaying red cheeks and a twisted scowl between each panted breath.

A tangled strand of hair whips me in the face when I turn back toward the street sprawled before me. Several curls crawl into my mouth when a rare gust of wind decides to rush down Loot Alley on its way to somewhere far more important. I lift a hand to swipe at the unruly strands, only to be reminded of the very reason I’m running from an Imperial in the first place. Honey oozes between my fingers, dripping lazily from the sticky bun squished in my palm. I might have gotten away with my first attempt at thievery if it weren’t for the fact that I tripped into the very stand I tried to steal from. Unfortunately, it only got worse from there. I then profusely apologized for stealing before spinning on my heel and running off. This got the merchant’s attention, then the Imperial’s, and now everyone on the market street is bearing witness to the scene I’m causing. It’s not as though the Imperial—or the king he serves—care about the overcooked dough I sloppily stole. No, it’s the example that he is chasing. The spectacle I will become at the bloody post in the center of Loot. Imperials like their whips, and I like my sticky buns. And for some reason, the starving girl is in the wrong. Men, women, and wandering children jump out of my path, though most look unfazed by the sight of me hurtling past. Looting on Loot is hardly uncommon. Merchants curse as I weave between their carts, though I shout my apologies at anyone who cares to accept them. This may be the most terrifying thin...

I mean, attempting to sew a pleated skirt was certainly a daunting task. But the threat that pointy needles pose likely pales in comparison to what this Imperial has in store for me. I glance down at the sticky bun that is, in fact, feeling like its name suggests. What has gotten into me I shout an apology to the woman scurrying out of the way, likely swallowed up by the sound of her cursing my name. Hunger. That’s what has gotten into me. But I don’t particularly like being cursed at. In fact, if most of the people yelling in my direction actually got to know me, I’m sure I would make a completely respectable impression under different circumstances. Hair flinging over a shoulder, I peek at my giant pursuer. Face still as red as ever, he charges persistently. Well, he’s definitely not a Flash, that’s for certain. When my head swivels back toward the street, it’s glinting silver that catches my eye. The girl stands in my path, staring curiously at the scene sprinting toward her. Silver hair spills from her head, pouring down her back. And if I make it out of this unscathed, I’m determined to find a fabric of the same shimmering shade. I admire her hair until it is suddenly...

spine. I have yet to get accustomed to the ability I possess—a result of the Plague that swept through Ilya and formed the generations after into Elites. I don’t dare look back until I hear a heavy thud hit the cobblestones behind me. I barely catch the Imperial’s face hitting the stones before the girl is bounding behind me. “Don’t stop!” she shouts, not bothering to fight the smile pulling at her lips. All I can manage is a breathless laugh in response as I focus on forcing my tired legs faster. We run until she yanks me down a narrow alley, dodging the huddled homeless. “This way,” she orders, continuing to tug on my arm. It’s only after slinking down several shadowed alleyways that we allow ourselves to lean against a grimy brick wall, gulping down equally dusty air. She looks over at me, and I look over at her. Something like understanding seems to settle between us. As though loneliness has found its equal. The girl raises her eyebrows at the sticky bun still gripped in my hand. “First time stealing?” “That obvious?” I smile sheepishly. She shrugs. “You would think a Phaser would be better at escaping.” “See,” I sigh, “that’s w...

We laugh. It’s nice, this brief moment of companionship. The warmth coats my chest when I giggle for the first time in a long while. For the first time since Mama. I raise the sticky bun between us. “Wanna split?” She laughs again when I wave the dough beneath her nose. “What, with your sweat all over it?” “Oh, this is nothing,” I say, the words muffled by the bite I take. “I’ve sweat more while trying to stitch up a corset.” She looks absolutely distraught at that statement. “Why would you ever need a corset?” “Unfortunately,” I sigh wistfully, “I wouldn’t. But richer people do.” She blinks at me, something brewing behind her blue eyes. “You sell clothes?” My eyes skim down the dirtied shirt hanging from her shoulder to land on the pants bunched at her boots. “Yeah, and it looks like you could certainly use some.” I run a hand down her sleeve, feeling the coarse fabric rubbing against her skin. “No, this won’t do at all.” “Stealing food is kind of my priority at the moment,” she grumbles. Excitement bubbles up my throat in the form of a hushed shout. “...

“Perfect,” I say cheerily before sticking out the hand currently unoccupied with my stolen goods. “I’m Adena.” She takes my hand, seemingly shaking it just to humor me. “I’m Paedyn.” “Well, Paedyn”—I rip the sticky bun in half, offering a smushed side to her—“I think we could make a great team.” She pops a piece of dough into her mouth. “So, you sew, and I steal? We share the money and the food?” “Exactly.” I hesitate for a moment. “I mean, unless you have somewhere better to go than the slums….” “Not anymore,” she says, a bit too quickly. “So, partners?” “Partners.” I smile before looking down the length of her. “And my first order of business is getting you into something far less horrendous.” She huffs out a laugh. “Yeah, because tha...

Her name is on a list of the dead. I squint in the stinging sunlight, scrutinizing every name inked onto the banner. Hers sits among the eight others, likely overlooked beneath the prince’s crowning the top. But despite being on the list, our future Enforcer will easily evade the death awaiting the other contestants. Because these Trials were made for Elites like him. Not Elites like her. My eyes skim over the list once again, recognizing no other names. I’ve never been one to keep up with what Elites manage to wrangle enough relevance to make it into the Trials. A shoulder collides with mine, followed by several other limbs pushing against me. Loot is swimming with sticky bodies and echoing shouts of celebration, further adding to the list of reasons why I would rather be anywhere else but the slums of Ilya. It’s a struggle to push my way through the crowded street, every inch of it crawling

with ignorance incarnate. Every inch cheering for each contestant they chose to represent Loot. I push through the crowd, ignoring their celebrations. They have done nothing more than send Mundanes and Defensive Elites to their deaths. And she is one of them. But it should be me. Me who dies brutally. Dies alone. Dies at all. Chants in honor of the sixth ever Purging Trials ring in my ears, each word a reminder of what I’ve done—nothing. I’ve spent my whole life huddling in her shadow, hiding from life itself. And now she has been chosen simply because she did nothing of the sort. The people knew her, loved the street magic she performed as a Veil. And yet, they sentence her to death under the guise of honor. She is a Defensive. Therefore, she is dead. And I need to find her. My hands are still streaked with coal dust, leathers clinging to my sweaty body as though I’m still hammering steel over a scalding fire. I had worked through the night and was continuing still when the commotion managed to drag me from the shop. I should have gone to see her last night. Should have been there when she found out. And now I’m shoving through a sea of people, attempting to find her before it’s too late. I scan the packed street, catching sight of a coach rumbling toward the end of it. It screeches to a halt, the horses nearly as impatient as the drivers eager to escape the slums. I sure as hell know how that feels.

I’m shoved forward when the congested crowd begins flocking toward the coach, crowding it as though they’re offering free rides out of this shithole. Begrudgingly, I allow myself to be swept forward, managing to catch a glimpse of her climbing inside. An Imperial ushers her up the step, and in typical Hera fashion, she shyly thanks him as though he’s not escorting her to her doom. Her sleek black hair is the last thing I see before she’s swallowed by the four walls, sitting in the belly of the coach. The world seems to quiet, slow its spinning with each shaky breath I manage. I didn’t get to say goodbye. My thumb finds the scar cutting crookedly through my lips, tracing it like I had the day my life truly became a secret. A familiar numbness begins to bleed over my body, bathing every bit of me in bitterness. I’m about to turn away, unable to watch her be paraded toward her death. That’s when a flash of silver catches my eye. I peer over the dozens of heads dotting the street, watch her walk toward the coach with hair that tells me all I need to know. So, this is the famous Silver Savior. Word of her saving Prince Kai managed to reach even my ears—evidence of h...

I’m watching her climb into the coach when a hopping figure captures my attention. Dark curls bounce with each attempt to see over the crowd. Her hands are raised, waving haphazardly at the Silver Savior. She’s shouting something that looks quite heartfelt, likely a wasted goodbye that will never be heard. I lean over a pair of young women who are chanting terribly off-key to the rest of the street. Her features grow more blurry with each hop off the ground, making it difficult to focus on them. But something about her seems faintly familiar, as though this isn’t the first time I’ve been graced by the presence of her perpetual perkiness. I roll my eyes when recognition rams into me. Oh, I know exactly who this is. In fact, I believe she even made it onto my ever-growing list of reasons to never leave my shop. I was buying supplies from a merchant who was just as eager to take my money as I was to retreat back into my glorified shed. It was with a bundle of leather tucked beneath my arm and a severe lack of pep in my step that I heard the most absurdly bubbly sales pitch. And that’s when I saw her, curly hair bouncing with each energetic bob of her head. A plethora of clothing pi...

And she’s a Phaser. I know that much about her. Well, that, and her astounding ability to never tire of talking. I watch her blow kisses to the Silver Savior, so many that I brace myself to witness her faint. But she does nothing of the sort, leaving me to continue watching the endearing embodiment of her affections for this girl. There is no mistaking the sincerity in each flailing wave and shouted sentiment. This seamstress knows the Silver Savior, and quite personally by the looks of it. Likely enough to do just about anything for her. My mind races recklessly, scheming. A horribly impulsive plan begins to form, one that should likely never leave the confines of my mind, let alone be executed ...

Scraps of fabric are my only company. The whole thing sounds far more depressing than it is, really. This is a very temporary state of loneliness. Once Pae returns from the Trials—because I refuse to believe there is any other outcome—she will be back to sleeping soundlessly on my left. I scoot over at the thought, ensuring there is plenty of space for the presence of her to sleep peacefully. I refuse to occupy her side, and instead, reserve it with my pile of fabric. A memorial, if you will. But not in a dead, depressing way. More like an I miss you and, don’t worry, I’m saving your spot sort of way. The Fort is a bit drafty tonight, though that’s likely due to the fact that we constructed it from dozens of miscellaneous items at the age of thirteen. The sudden urge to give our little home a makeover has me far too giddy to sleep. Pae deserves a more fabulous Fort to

come home to. Though, I suppose she’ll be able to buy half the slums if she happens to win these Trials. How remarkable would it be if she manages it? Manages to win what is meant to showcase the Elite power, though she has nothing of the sort. But if any Ordinary could, it would be Pae. She will fool them all with her “Psychic” abilities, because if she hadn’t told me otherwise, I likely would still believe her act of observance. I burrow into our blanket, my mind buzzing with possibilities. And then I nod to myself, settling on my Fort redecoration surprise. This will be my gift to her. I haven’t realized I’ve drifted asleep until a ray of sun tickles my forehead. Rolling over, my face finds the mound of scraps to be rather comfortable before the strands have me sneezing. Once my nose has finished throwing its fit, I sit up, brushing back the bangs sticking to my forehead. My sleepy eyes are slow to open but quick to find the spot beside me empty. I stutter from where I sit behind the Fort, unsure what to do with myself. For the past five years, Paedyn has only woken up due to my perseverance each morning. And maybe a part of me reveled in the routine of it, of being the first person she sees. Though, the task is certainly not for the faint of heart. She’s stubborn, even in sleep. With resolve I’d rather not muster at the moment, I manage to get to my feet. Exchanging one oversized shirt for another, I attempt to run fingers through the tangled curls earned from a night ...

After twisting my hair into a messy knot at the nape of my neck, I gather a bundle of clothes into my arms and phase right through the barrier that is our fort. Sunlight coats the tops of crumbling shops as I set out onto Loot, its rays creeping down the walls to splatter the pavement. I smile at the sight before silently saying good morning to the shiny star. We’ve always been close, connected in a way I can’t explain. I pass several merchants preparing their carts for the day, smiling at the few who appreciate the gesture. Routine. Again. I’ve nearly made it to my corner when the smell of fresh dough wafts toward me. My stomach complains loudly at the scent, grumbling about its lack of food. And apparently, my feet listen. They carry me toward the source of the smell while I hug the mass of fabric tighter against me. That’s how I find myself standing before a merchant’s cart, piled high with sticky buns. The man nods curtly while I smile sweetly as though I’m not considering anything unlawful. But it’s as though the temptation was created just for me. My stomach is insistent, my hands greedy to snatch a glazed piece of dough. Except, I never have been much good at snatching, h...

clutch my bundle of clothing beneath a single arm. Turning away slowly, I whisper my apology to the seemingly kind man as I step away from his stand. That is when the green pleated skirt I spent hours stitching falls from the pile, landing behind me. I spin on my heel, bending to pick it up before the merchant notices and— “Hey! You got money for that, girl?” I stumble into a run. I’m a terrible person who steals and runs from the consequences. Not that Pae is a terrible person. No, I’m just not cut out for this. My conscience can’t condone this sort of dreadful deed. “I’m sorry!” I shout as I tear off down the street. “I’m sure it’s delicious and very much worth the money I don’t have!” I weave through the growing crowd, feeling the clothes slipping with each bounding step. Blurry faces watch me race by, one of them partially covered with a white mask. Perfect. I’ve caught the attention of an Imperial. Just as I had five years ago for the exact same crime. I could laugh at my repeated stupidity. Except, Paedyn isn’t here to save me this time around. Leaving me no other option but to run alone. Attempt to escape my crime. The Imperial is now in pursuit behind me, shouting orders...

Free from the bundle, I race down the street while mentally scolding myself for what I’ve done. Though, that doesn’t stop me from scarfing down several bites of dough as I try to lessen the amount of incriminating evidence. I turn down several streets, cutting through alleys while trying not to choke on my stolen goods. The Imperial is still on my heels when I skid around a corner and— Large arms wrap around my body, pulling me against a foreign one. My attempt to struggle is futile in comparison to the size of this someone behind me. I’m about to yell for anyone who might care enough to help when a hand suddenly clamps over my mouth, smelling of a sort of soot that stings my nose. I’m being pulled backward, farther and farther until my captor collides with the wall and— And phases right through it, forcing me to do the same. I stumble on the other side of the brick, my feet fumbling beneath me. A muscled arm is lifting me off the floor before I can slip and fall face-first into it. A large hand still covers my nose and mouth and I’m desperately trying to free myself so I can spew every word that’s being smothered. That’s when I sneeze in...

But it seems I do neither of those things, because I spin on my heel at the same moment I harshly whisper, “You’re a Phaser, too?” If I had a single rational thought left, it vanishes when I lay eyes on him. If there is a God, this man is certainly proof that He has His favorites. He’s breathtaking in the way I would imagine a stab wound to be, so handsome it’s piercing. Like a blade, everything about him is sharp and cold. And I suddenly have a vague sense of familiarity at the sight of him. Tipping my head up, my eyes find his dark ones before trailing down to the sharp cheekbones beneath them. I follow the curve of his Cupid’s bow until my gaze traces the scar slicing through his lips. Everything below his face is hidden beneath thick, partially leathered clothing, though the sheer size of him is obvious. His dark sleeves are sloppily rolled to his elbow, displaying muscled arms streaked in the black dust that made me— “You sneezed in my hand.” His arm is stretched out in front of him as he blinks down at his palm in disbelief. “Well…” My whole body flushes as I struggle to form words. “Your hand made me sneeze.” “You don’t say? I hadn’t noticed.” ...

With the hand unmarred by my sneeze, he combs long fingers through dark hair. It’s parted and shaggy and likely long enough to partially tie back with a strap. But when he brushes the strands out of his face, I catch sight of a silver streak hiding among the rugged black waves. My heart stops at the sight. At the reminder of Pae. “Was walking through the wall not proof enough of that?” he asks blandly, his eyes finally flicking to mine. I doubt I’ll be getting so much as a smile anytime soon. Or a kind word, for that matter. But that doesn’t mean I can’t try to earn one. “Sorry, um, I’ve just never met another Phaser before.” I smile despite the stony expression he wears. “I mean, obviously I knew there were others. I’m not special enough to be the only one. Although—” “See, as incredibly interesting as wherever the hell you were going with that is, we need to get down to business.” He pairs a solemn nod with what he likely thinks is a sympathetic look. “So, I’m gonna go ahead and let you ask one more question before I dive into everything.” I blink at him, temporarily dazed. “Excuse me?” He raises his eyebrows. “Are you sure that’s the question you want to ask?” “W-what busines...

I take a deep breath before plastering a smile onto my face. “Fine,” I say sweetly. “Could you stick your hand through the wall for me? I’ve just always wanted to see someone else do it.” He lifts a hand to run it down his face. “Honestly, I shouldn’t even be surprised.” I wait until he’s walked toward the brick and stuck out a hand. “Oh, wait,” I giggle innocently while he takes his time turning toward me. “Not that wall. No, I wanted you to stick your hand through that one.” I point toward the bricks opposite him, earning a sarcastic grin from the nameless man I’m not sure I wish to see again. When he reaches my wall of choice, he turns to raise an eyebrow. “Do you have a hand preference? Perhaps the one you sneezed on?” “No, that would be silly!” I laugh lightly. His left hand reaches for the wall. “On second thought, your right one.” He turns stiffly, barely containing his abundance of annoyance. “Any other requests? Maybe stick my head through as well? A foot?” I shake my head, smiling a bit too large. “Nope!” He turns back toward the wall. Several heartbeats pound past in which he simply waits. After throwing a glance over his shoulder, he deems it safe to finally slide hi...

I cross my arms over my chest in an attempt to seem intimidating. “And if I’m not?” “Life is abundant with disappointment, I’m afraid.” He strides back toward me, voice deep and tone dull. “Now, it’s time I tell you why I saved your ass.” I pin him with a questioning look. “Yes, I have been wondering that. Because I’m getting the impression that it certainly wasn’t out of the goodness of your heart.” “Obviously not.” He crosses stained arms over his leathered chest. “Speaking of, why the hell didn’t you just phase into a building and lose the Imperial?” With a sudden urge to defend myself, I lift my chin. “Well, I… I never know what’s waiting on the other side.” I am then distracted by my dim surroundings, as though seeing them for the first time. We are standing in a crumbling building, deserted by everything but whatever creatures are likely crawling around. He stares at me for a stressful few seconds before stating, “Odd.” I can feel his eyes lingering over the length of me and would rather not know what it is he’s seeing. Possibly the sweat dotting my brow, or better yet, ...

He all but rolls his eyes at the sight of my spreading smile. “Sorry, could you say that one more time?” I ask sweetly with a hand cupped around my ear. There’s that mock sympathy seeping onto his features once again. “Not a chance. You’re all out of questions, hun.” Taking a deep breath, he begins pacing absentmindedly. “You’re a seamstress, yes?” “How do you know I’m—” My words stop the moment my heart seems to do the same. I blink at him, his features suddenly shifting into something undeniably familiar. My gasp has him startling in surprise, pressing a hand over his heart. “You! I know you!” His eyes dart away from mine, guilty in the way they pointedly avoid my gaze. “I thought you looked familiar,” I blurt before poking an accusing finger into his chest. “You’re the one who shouted at me on the street!” He shrugs nervously, scratching a hand against the back of his shaggy hair. “I would prefer to call it constructive criticism, but I can see how—” “Well, you criticized my favorite blouse.” “And I stand by what I said. It should have been—” “Red,” I finish through my teeth. “Yeah, I remember.” He looks a...

My teeth grind together, the feeling foreign and full of frustration. This man is, so far, slightly insufferable. I’ve never met someone so completely cold and condescending. It’s impressive, really, his ability to ruffle even me. The thought suddenly has me setting my jaw along with a new goal for myself. I hereby refuse to give him the satisfaction of irritating me. And that is why I scare him with a wide smile as I say, “So, why is it you need my help?” It takes him a moment to recover from my sudden shift of emotion. “Look,” he says with a sigh, “someone very important to me just got sent into the Trials.” His eyes search mine. “You know exactly what that’s like.” “How do you…” I trail off, confusion crinkling my brow. “How do you know that?” “I was out on the street when the coach pulled up to take the contestants to the castle.” He clears his throat. “Watched Hera climb in before the Silver Savior followed. And that is when I saw you, jumping and waving at her like she was your everything.” “That’s because she is,” I whisper. “Well, I don’t know about you, but I never got to say goodbye to my everything.” He spits out the words as though they left a bitter taste ...

I need to give her.” The words tumble from his mouth, urgent and more earnest than any one prior. “I know it might sound crazy, but if you can make me look like an Imperial, I can phase through the walls and walk around the castle without fear of getting caught.” My lips part as shock smothers every other emotion. “You want me to disguise you as an Imperial?” “Do you have a better idea?” he counters. I quickly come to the conclusion that I do not, in fact, have a better idea. Each of my hands find a hip as I look up at him stubbornly. “And why would I want to help you? You haven’t exactly made a good first impression.” I pause. “Either of the times we’ve met.” “Well, my charm isn’t for everyone.” He sighs, lifting a hand to run his thumb over the scar splitting his lips. “But I assure you, this would be mutually beneficial.” I frown. “How so?” “For starters, it’s very clear that you need… help.” I’m about to object when he raises a sooty hand, stilling my tongue. “Need I remind you of your little attempt at thievery just now?” He tsks, giving me a disapproving shake of his head. “I can offer you food. Water. Supplies. All of it.” How incredibly tempting. Plague ...

His words are icy enough to send a chill down my spine. “But what if you don’t?” I swallow, hating that I’m even considering his words. “So, I would go with you. To the palace.” He nods slowly. “And I would go see Paedyn while you see Hera?” Another nod. “As far as I know, they should be staying in the same wing of the castle during the Trials. Though, annoyingly, I have no idea where that might be.” “Which is why you want an Imperial uniform. So you can walk the halls freely while you search for the wing,” I breathe quietly, nodding in understanding. “Exactly.” He extends a sooty hand, his lips tipping slightly in what might be considered a smile. “Do we have a deal?” My eyes flick up from his stained palm. “You haven’t asked me my name.” He blows out a breath. “Sorry, I was focused on more important details.” At the flat look on my face, he grumbles, “By all means, please grace me with the knowledge of your name. I’m on the edge of my seat.” I smile brightly. “I’m Adena. Thank you very much for asking. And what is your nam...

“I’m assuming you’re hungry, considering that you risked it all for a sticky bun.” Her jaw drops into a comical look of shock, eyes anywhere but the busy street before us. Before she can even say anything, I’m wrapping an arm around her shoulders, rolling my eyes, and tugging her out of a rumbling cart’s path. Barely seeming to notice the inconvenience, the shocked expression doesn’t budge from her face. “How did you know I stole—” She cuts herself off, looking around nervously as though an Imperial may pounce at the mention of such a heinous crime. It’s only when she’s deemed it safe that she whispers, “How did you know I stole a sticky bun?” “There’s still honey on your hand,” I say dully. This has her tucking her arms behind her back, expression sheepish. “And after

seeing the Imperial chasing you, well, I’m brilliant enough to put two and two together.” This all sounds very nonchalant, though the truth is nothing of the sort. I’d actually been watching her all morning and seen her pathetic attempt at theft. But I keep all this to myself, of course, because I have a plan to carry out. A very stupid and slightly unhinged plan. “Brilliant, huh?” she asks with a skeptical arch of her brow. “Self-proclaimed.” She hums. “I see.” We walk in silence, surrounded only by the commotion of the street. It’s a blissful eight seconds. “Do you have a job?” I glance sidelong at her cheery expression. “Self-employed.” This time, she lasts all of six seconds before speaking again. “Any hobbies?” “Self-serving.” I meet her gaze before more sarcasm can slide off my tongue. “Paired with the occasional self-loathing.” Frustration tugs her lips into a frown, one she quickly smothers with one of her profoundly perky observations. “Well, aren’t you quite the conversationalist!” “Self-taught.” The deep breath she takes is audible even over the constant bustle belonging to Loot. I almost smile. Because I’m a horrible person who doesn’t believe that anyone could possibly be so happy. And maybe she truly is, though it’s likely because she hadn’t yet met me.

I just might crack her, seeing that I may be her worst nightmare—her opposite. But I’d be doing her a favor, really. Widening her range of emotions. Get her to embrace any other feeling besides permanent, unbearable perkiness. Glancing over, I watch as she tilts her head toward the sky, skin glowing in the warm rays stroking her face. The light purple shirt she wears is falling down her arm, revealing a delicate collarbone and dark shoulder. My eyes trail over the black curls bouncing in time to each of her steps. Windblown bangs bleed into hazel eyes, bright with a sort of serenity that doesn’t belong in the slums. There is not a single cynical thought to deny the fact that she may be the most beautiful woman I’ve ever had the pleasure of laying eyes on. She’s intimidatingly peaceful—a contradiction in itself. And I almost want to despise her for it. Because I fear there is a chance that I may begin to enjoy her. “Soooo.” She draws out the word, giving me enough time to stop staring at her before I’m caught in the act. “Where is it you’re taking me?” “Somewhere that will likely have you sneezing all over me.” Blandly, I add, “So I’ll be keeping my distance.” She shrugs. “So lon...

her lips as though pondering something of far greater importance than our current topic. “Oh, and I get scared very easily when I’m focused on my sewing, so don’t sneak up on me or anything. I may poke you with a needle, so consider yourself warned.” “Noted,” I sigh. “Any other demands?” A mischievous grin pulls at her lips. “I expect a sticky bun every day. For my hard work, of course.” I run my eyes over the length of her lean frame. “Well, that’s one way to get some meat on your bones.” Turning my attention back toward the crowded street, I’m forced to dodge several carts along with the scrambling children weaving between them. Which, in turn, means I’m also guiding an alarmingly oblivious Adena. “What are you looking at?” My tone is accusing. “Because it certainly isn’t the street in front of you.” She smiles slightly at our surroundings. “We clearly see the world quite differently.” “See the world however you’d like, but at least watch your step while you do it.” I pause long enough to take in my own words. Then I’m glancing over at her with a surprised quirk of my brow. “That was good advice. You should write that down.” She laughs, though I’m certain it is at my expense. ...

blurts, exasperated. “I need to get your measurements before any fabric can be bought.” “You can’t be serious,” I say dryly. “Why don’t we get some now, and then—” “We are doing this my way, Mak.” Her sudden sternness is almost startling. “Or not at all.” I raise a palm in mock surrender. “Fine. I’m shocked you could stop smiling long enough to tell me off.” She smiles at that, further proving my point. After several more steps down the street, I nod toward the alley on our right. “This way.” She follows me closely, like a too-short shadow attached to my heels. I lead her down the alley, stalling outside one of the many shop doors surrounded by crumbling brick. After fishing a key from a pocket decorating my leathers, so begins the routine of forcing the toothed iron into the lock. It’s only after me ramming my shoulder against the wood that the door swings open on squealing, rusty hinges. I brace an arm against it, gesturing for her to step inside. After she’s offered me a quick smile, I watch her take in the entirety of my life with a single sweep of her eyes. She paces around what can generously be described as a glorified shed. It’s odd, watching someone take in the mess tha...