“I don’t like being so far away from Saxon security. Especially after the attack today.” Jack paused. “The Saxons want the tomb as much as we do. If we told them the truth, they could at least send guards.”

   I was shaking my head before he’d even finished speaking. “You know why we can’t tell them. They’d never let me give what we find to the Order.”

   I leaned on the railing. We were sheltered from the rain by the building’s overhang, but the occasional breeze sent a drop or two our way. My shoulders stiffened when Jack leaned beside me.

   “I know. I understand.” He took a deep breath. “It’s just—you’ve got to understand my point of view, too. The way you feel about doing everything you can to keep your mom safe? That’s how I feel about you. I know I’m not supposed to,” he continued. “I know we’re not . . . But you can’t imagine what it felt like today to see him raise that gun in your direction.”

   I swallowed. “I really don’t think they’re going to hurt me—”

   “And I think you need to take into account the opinions of people who don’t have an emotional stake in this like you do.”

   I pushed back from the railing. “You just admitted you do have an emotional stake in it.”

   Jack turned. Earlier I had been so relieved for us to be back together, and needed the comfort of us so much, that I couldn’t not kiss him. I knew he felt it too—he’d just admitted he still felt it as much as I did. But this—this suddenly not being on the same page when I had thought we were—was a different kind of tension entirely, and one I wasn’t used to.

   “Avery—” he said.

   “You can’t always be perfectly cautious. We can figure out ways to be safer, but we’re going to Greece. And we’re not telling the Saxons.”

   He gripped the railing hard, very controlled as always, then nodded.

   We stood in silence for a few minutes. Under the streetlight across from us, on an expanse of crumbling brick, was a smattering of graffiti. The only words that stood out well enough to read were Ti amo!

   “What does that mean?” I pointed.

   “Um.” He paused. “It means I love you. In Italian.”

   “Oh.” Even though it was in this context, those words, coming out of Jack’s mouth, in his accent—I was suddenly too conscious of my heart hammering against my ribs. “That’s the sweetest graffiti I’ve ever seen.”

   I could feel him looking at me. “I don’t want us to be angry at each other,” he said.

   I leaned beside him at the rain-slicked railing again. “I’m not angry. It’s just—you get why I have to do this, right?”

   “I do,” he said. “You’ll do whatever it takes for someone you love. I get it.”

   I reached my hand out, and he took it. We let our fingers intertwine for a second.

   “What are you doing out there?” Elodie yelled. “Hurry up and come inside.”

   We let go, and I balled the cuffs of Jack’s coat in my palms as we headed back in.

   “I didn’t realize we were on a schedule.” I flopped back down on the soft leather couch, still feeling unsettled.

   “We’re not.” Elodie was lying on her back on the white fur rug, staring up at the beams crisscrossing the ceiling, holding the wine bottle. “Luc has an idea.”

   Luc was grinning too big, considering the circumstances. I eyed him warily. “What?”

   “We have finished our sadness for the night. Let’s do something fun. Let’s play a game.”

   Jack, perched on the arm of the couch next to me, raised an eyebrow. “A game?”

   Elodie sat up and finished the last sip from the bottle, then put it on the floor, sending it into a shaky twirl. “Spin the bottle.”

 

 

CHAPTER 11

   I crossed my arms and settled further back into the couch. “You’re kidding, right?”

   “Come on,” Elodie said. “We’re teenagers without adult supervision. Aren’t we obligated to get drunk and play kissing games?”

   “First of all, this might be the most inappropriate night ever to do something like that. And second, we’re not exactly normal teenagers,” I said. “I’d probably be the closest, and I’m far from normal.”

   Which was an odd thing to think. I was the world’s most normal teenager until recently, and now I was—to quote Stellan—the closest thing the most powerful group in the world had to a leader.

   “That is why we will do it. Celebrate life rather than being sad about death,” Luc said dreamily. Obviously more than a little tipsy.

   “And who cares if we’re normal?” Elodie sat up. “Spin the bottle is what all the American teenagers do in the movies. Ooh, or truth or dare. Want to play truth or dare instead?”

   I frowned at her. “I have never once played spin the bottle or truth or dare. The movies lie to you.”

   “Well then.” Elodie handed the bottle to Stellan, who shrugged and put it on the ground. He gave it a twirl. “This’ll be everyone’s first time.”

   The bottle spun wildly, then slowed, wobbled a bit . . . and came to a stop, pointing right at me.

   Stellan looked up with a slow smile.

   “Oh my God. Okay. We’ll play truth or dare. I choose truth,” I said.

   “Ouch,” said Stellan.

   Elodie smiled triumphantly, plucking the bottle off the ground. “Truth. Never have I ever . . .”

   “You’re mixing your games,” I interrupted. “Never have I ever is like group truth. You say what you’ve never done, and whoever has done it has to drink.”