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“This is the worst thing you’ve ever done to me.”
She set her hand on top of Farooq-Lane’s with such fondness, fingers slid familiarly through Farooq-Lane’s, that Farooq-Lane flinched. “I forgot,” Liliana said, going back to fussing with her braids instead. “You’re still very young. I’m grateful you rescued me.”
The most infuriating thing about Ramsay was that he knew she hated the way he talked to her and didn’t bother to alter it. It felt as if there should be consequences for being a boring, grown frat boy who enjoyed making people uncomfortable, and yet there did not seem to be.
World to save and all that.” I am that feather, Farooq-Lane thought. She was not that feather. She punched J. J. Ramsay hard enough that he fell ass over tits, chair wailing right over backward, depositing him flat on his back with his legs all tangled around the chair’s legs.
“I’ll follow you anywhere.”
It was so much more powerful than they that the only saving grace was that it had never noticed—
He got exhausted from carrying all their secrets and giving none of his away.
“Why do you have a hotel down there and Declan locked in the attic like a madwoman?”
It hurt too bad. Loving anything did.
After leaving Ramsay, Farooq-Lane had told Liliana that she’d get her an end suite at the hotel until they could find a more private vacation rental.
Liliana smiled as if she found her anxiety familiar and amusing. “Both.”
Farooq-Lane’s lips parted rudely. Liliana was beautiful. She was still clearly the old woman who had just been there before, but she was also not. Her long pale braids had become long red hair instead, and the eyes that had before been full of calm were now full of tears.
Sundogs are as fast as sunbeams, the trees whispered. They’re hungry. Quench them with water.
Those images were his forever now,
Quench them with water, Lindenmere had said. There wasn’t enough water in here to pour over all of them, but it was at least enough to test a theory. But to his surprise, that wasn’t how it happened. He unscrewed the top. Immediately, the sundogs poured into the bottle.
Girls, guns, gold, as the song went.
She chewed her lip, then made a decision. “Can Farooq-Lane stay with me?”
Hennessy was … less.
It was that he’d given up everything and gotten nothing for it in return. It was that he wasn’t a dreamer, and he wasn’t a dream, and he couldn’t be human; there was nothing left. Just a turquoise ocean with no sign that he’d ever been. Something had to change.
He was looking for a response to his last text to MANAGEMENT. Hennessy could see a wall of text that Ronan had sent about Bryde, and then, on its own line, where Ronan had texted Tamquam. It was marked unread.
She reached between them and fumbled until she felt his leather wristbands, then found his hand. She held it. He held back tightly.
It was his friends leaving in Gansey’s old Camaro for a year’s trip without him. It was Adam sitting with him in the labyrinth in Harvard telling him that it was never going to work. It was tamquam, marked unread.
