Her heart had built up a strong-enough wall that the question didn’t knock the breath out of her, but Scarlet still felt the pang of remembering. It was impossible to keep away the memories of the prisons beneath the opera house. Her grandmother’s broken body. Her murder, as Scarlet watched and could do nothing.
This and this alone was the one thing she dreaded about returning home. The house wouldn’t be the same without her grandmother’s bread rising in the kitchen or her muddy boots left in the entry.
“She’s dead,” Scarlet said. “She died in the first attacks on Paris.”
émilie’s face pinched. “I’m so sorry.”
A silence crept in, that moment when there was nothing appropriate to say.
Scarlet straightened her spine, needing to change the subject. “Do you remember that street fighter who was coming into the tavern for a while?”
émilie’s expression lit up. “With the eyes?” she asked. “How could a girl forget?”
Scarlet laughed. “Yeah, well. It turns out he’s Lunar.”
émilie gasped. “No.”
“Also, I’m kind of dating him.”
The view on the screen shook as émilie clasped a hand over her mouth. “Scarlet Benoit!” She stammered for a moment, before—“It’s going to take weeks for you to explain this all to me, isn’t it?”
“Probably.” Scarlet brushed her hair over one shoulder. “But I will. I promise. Look, I should go. I just wanted you to know I’m all right, and to check on the farm—”
“I’ll tell everyone you’re safe. But when are you coming home?”
“I don’t know. Soon, I hope. And, ém? Please don’t let Gilles put up a plaque about me.”
The waitress shrugged. “I make no promises, Scarling. You are our little hero.”
Scarlet clicked off the portscreen and tossed it onto the bed. Sighing, she glanced out the window. Below, she could see the destruction of the courtyard and hundreds of people trying to put it back together.
Artemisia was beautiful in its own way, but Scarlet was ready for fresh air and home-cooked food. She was ready to go home.
A knock sounded at the door and it opened, just a bit at first, Wolf hesitant on the other side. Scarlet smiled and he dared to come in, shutting the door behind him. He was holding a bouquet of blue daisies and looking immensely guilty.
“I was eavesdropping,” he confessed, hunching his shoulders beside his ears.
She smirked, teasingly. “What’s the point of superhuman hearing if you don’t eavesdrop once in a while? Come in. I didn’t expect you back so soon.”
Wolf took another step and paused. He had a slight limp from the bullet that had hit his side, but it was healing fast. That was one thing to be said for the alterations—Wolf had certainly been made to be tough.
On the outside, at least.
He frowned at the flowers, his ferocious teeth digging into his lower lip.
He’d left to go back to the house that morning—his childhood home. Though his mother’s body had already been taken out to one of the great graveyards in the wasteland of Luna, it had been important to him that he see the house one last time. To see if there was anything worth saving there, anything to remember his parents by, or even his brother.
Scarlet had offered to go with him but he wanted to do it alone.
She understood. Some things had to be done alone.
“Did you … find anything?”
“No,” he said. “There was nothing I wanted. Everything from my childhood was gone, and … she didn’t have much, you know. Except these.”
He approached her, unable to hold eye contact, and handed her the bouquet of flowers. Over half of their delicate stems had been crushed or snapped in Wolf’s indelicate fists.
“When I was a kid, I used to pick wildflowers for my grand-mère. She would keep them in a jar until they started to wilt, then press them between parchment paper so they’d last forever. I bet she has an entire box full of dried flowers somewhere.” She trailed a finger around some of the soft petals. “That’s what we’ll do with these. In honor of Maha.” She arranged the flowers in a half-full water glass that had been brought with her breakfast.
When she turned back, Wolf had nudged aside the portscreen and lowered himself onto the edge of the enormous bed. Scarlet was pretty sure the linens had been made by slave labor, and the thought made her uncomfortable every time she crawled into them.
As soon as he was sitting, Wolf’s leg started bouncing with anxious energy. Scarlet squinted at it. This wasn’t mourning.
He was nervous.
“What is it?” she said, sinking beside him. She set her hand on his knee and it froze.
His bright eyes found her. “You told your friend we’re dating.”
Scarlet blinked, and a sudden laugh tickled her throat, but at Wolf’s distraught face she held it back. “It seemed easier than trying to explain the whole alpha mate system.”
He looked down at his fidgeting hands. “And … you told her you’ll be going back to the farm.”
“Of course I’m going back to the farm.” She cocked her head, starting to grow anxious herself. “I mean, not tomorrow, but once things have calmed down.”
Wolf’s opposite knee started to bounce instead.