Page 108 of The Puppet Master
Five more.
All I’m doing is wasting time.
Yanking the straps down my arms, I let the bag hit the ground. I tuck it away inside a fallen tree trunk and mark the spot in my mind.
Then turn and sprint down the hill, every trap in the path to the ceremony stage memorized.
CHAPTER 27
LUNA
In the minutes that pass after the horn blares, I lie still. My eyes train on the ceiling, breaths lifting my chest with even inhales. No different than the twenty other days I’ve lived since meeting Sawyer Hansley.
Yet nothing is the same.
The door downstairs slams shut and feet stomp up the stairs, announcing my knight, myrescuer.
I laugh at the idea. Though nothing is funny.
Thorne’s bulky knuckles rap on the door three times. Pause. Twice more.
“Luna?”
The door groans, but I don’t lift my head to watch Thorne enter. I hear his hesitation, his boots creaking the old floorboards as he cautiously approaches. As if I’m infected. As if I’m acorpse.
“Are you all right?”
Am I all right?
No. Not really.
I laugh again.
“It’s over now,” he says, as if that’s reassurance. As if that doesn’t mean I’ve failed. “The Nurturers arranged for the children to perform a dance… We can go together.”
After closing my eyes for one last restless moment, I climb from the bed and walk toward the door. Thorne stops me before I can pass him, his large palms covering the entirety of my shoulders.
When I look up at him, he’s frowning.
“Are you okay?” he asks once more. He pulls off his jacket and wraps it around me. The gesture is so kind, so intimate, that it drops a ball of lead into my gut. I nod and force my back flat.
Relief. It should be relief.
Why doesn’t it feel like relief?
With a gentle caress, Thorne raises my chin high to look up at him. He’s always been so much taller than me. Ever since we were children.
“I missedyou…”
I wrap my fingers around Thorne’s wrist. My eyes close as he presses his forehead to mine. Strong and warm and present.
“I missed you too, my love,” I say with as much conviction as my voice will allow. A lie that’s never been difficult to tell—before this moment. Before my treehouse conversation with Sawyer.
Poor loverboy.
My throat tightens as I swallow and run my hand through Thorne’s thick brown locks, just barely long enough to catch between my fingers. So different from the wavy strands of sandy blonde I wished to touch—achedto touch—only an hour ago.
I break away from Thorne to pull on his jacket. It swallows the whore dress Sawyer chose for me. Brown leather reaches all the way to the tops of my knees.
