Page 57 of Stealing Tink

CHAPTER 25

You didn’t mention that we’d have to share a room. I can’t seem to write that quickly enough or angrily enough onto my notepad.

“Did I not?” asks the Nomad. “Surely I mentioned it at some point. Oh well.” He shrugs. “Surely you don’t mind.”

I stare at our train tickets for the overnight passenger train he booked for all six of us. Cabin 32 blazes in a scarlet foil, stamped on both of our tickets.

I’m not sharing a room with you.

I’ve never had a dream where the Nomad kills me on a train, but who’s to say that one small move in the wrong direction won’t cause that to occur?

“Well, Phoenix and Venus won’t room with anyone but each other,” he says, rolling his eyes. “Something about not trusting the rest of us. And I’m certainly not sharing a room with either Lars or Acel. Not when I’m fairly sure either of them would be happy to throttle me.”

Lars wouldn’t throttle you. He would poison you.

The Nomad looks as if he’s not sure whether he’s supposed to laugh at that or not, or if laughing will get him into further trouble.

“If it makes you feel better,” he says with a wink, “it’s a bunk bed situation.”

The fact that we’re at least not having to share the same mattress does make me feel minimally better. The train bobs back and forth under my feet as the six of us make our way to our rooms.

“You two will be sharing a room?” says Venus slyly as she pushes past me through the hallway and into her and Phoenix’s room.

The number 32 glares before my eyes, its fake gold lettering smudged and rubbed off so parts of it look burnished.

Cabin 32 of a train. This is where I’m going to die.

The Nomad slides the door open and ushers me in with a casual gesture of his hand and a poisonous smile.

I remain in place.

“I know what you’re thinking,” he says, “and they don’t allow you to sleep in the hall. I already checked the rules.”

“You were going to sleep in the hall?” says Lars on his way to his and Acel’s room.

“No,” says Acel. “He was going to make her sleep in the hall.”

By the time I turn back to the Nomad, he’s already disappeared into the room and is making himself at home, unpacking a suitcase that, in my opinion, is much too large for something that is a heist and not a vacation. Still, the Nomad likes to live in luxury, and train or ship, location doesn’t change that.

He pulls all sorts of unnecessary things from his suitcase before turning to me.

“Top or bottom?” he asks.

I stare at him blankly.

“The bunks,” he explains. “Which one do you want?”

You’re letting me pick?

“It is the gentlemanly thing to do,” he says, looking rather pleased with himself.

I consider my options. My gut reaction is to take the top bunk. There’s something that feels safer about not being trapped underneath the Nomad.

Then again, I once heard someone say that top bunks were bad luck. I don’t even remember who it was.

I toss my one leather satchel onto the bottom bunk.

“Boring choice, but I’ll accept it,” says the Nomad.