Shadow Touched

49 .NAIMA

CONTENT WARNING: The following scene contains explicit sexual content that may trigger some readers.

~*~

It feels like time has sped up since I returned to Varran City. I've barely had time to catch my breath as one revelation after another hits me. It's weird. I returned thinking this would be my chance to say goodbye to Grey properly. We'd sneak off for secret rendezvous and whisper words of love, dance one last time and then I would rip my heart from my chest, leaving in it his hands. I would finally bury "Lady Naima" and leave to, I don't know...continue building my criminal empire. Maybe I'd become a pirate. There's good work in piracy. Of course, I don't have a boat or know how to boat. But, whatever.

It doesn't matter. Because none of that is happening. Instead, I'm scrambling to find some way to save the man I love before he's turned into a Shadow-riddled curse.

Breaking into Welland's to find Lucretzia Vaimos' journals is the only thing keeping me going. I can't shake the look Grey kept giving me and Finch today in the morgue. I could have sworn I saw jealousy behind his eyes. It's left me feeling nervous and unsettled. It's not like Grey to jump to conclusions. It's certainly not like him not to trust me. Or Finch, for that matter. It's also ridiculous. I hate Finch. Okay, maybe I don't quite hate him anymore. But I don't like him. I—I accept him...begrudgingly.

All these thoughts and worries swirl through my head as I wear a hole in my bedroom's thick, plush rug. I've been debating returning to the Rogue—I sent a note saying I would stay at Mirrador until the Jubilee. However, being in my father's home would still be nice. I keep wondering if there's any more of his writings at home, paperwork that perhaps Finch missed.

I look back at the big, four-poster bed piled high with soft pillows. Or at least it was. The bed is now littered with my father's writings and research, with pillows strewn everywhere.

I've gone through his research repeatedly. I've reviewed his journals, trying to see if I missed anything. Last night, Finch dropped off more of it, but it's mostly reporting on military training with sprinkles of strange happenings here and there.

Finch also dropped off a basket filled with letters. Apparently, my father maintained an avid correspondence with many people. I worked my way through them, trying to see if there were any more from the mysterious Red Rose, who sent the letter about Lucretzia. I found nothing.

So now I'm pacing back and forth, practically climbing the walls. Stressed and worried. Overwhelmed really. I have too much energy and nothing to do with it. Of course, there's another dinner tonight. Another opportunity to sit just far enough from Grey where I can feel him near. Hear him. See him. Yet, not speak with him. Or touch him. Or, actually, enjoy his presence. It's a unique kind of torture. One I can't say I'm looking forward to.

Letting out a deep sigh, I resign myself to my fate. I need to clear off the bed and get these papers tucked away before my ladies' maids come rushing in.

As I begin my clean-up, the sound of the wind rattling the windows acts as music to me. It's strangely calming. I shove the papers back into the leather holder Finch stored them in. While he'd taken the time to organize the notes by year and month, I'm going for more of a hide-and-seek type vibe.

The noise from the windows and the rustling of paper make it so I barely notice the clattering on the balcony's stained glass doors. Soon enough, the clattering turns to a cacophony, and I can't not hear it. It's almost as if someone is throwing something like pebbles at the doors, but that's impossible. I'm too high up, and besides, Finch ensured me the enchantments he placed on this room would keep me in and anyone out.