Our Dark Duet (Monsters of Verity #2)(49)

But something was off. He didn’t look at Kate, only at Soro. “I’ll take it from here.”

Kate tried to step toward him, but Soro caught her arm. “Explain to me, August, why she is—”

“No,” he cut in, an edge in his voice. It was the same edge Kate had heard in her father’s tone a dozen times, one she herself had mimicked, an edge meant to silence, to quell. It sounded wrong coming from him. “We both have orders. Follow yours, and let me follow mine.”

A shadow crossed Soro’s face, but the Sunai complied and Kate was shoved forward into the apartment. August caught her elbow, steadying her as the elevator doors slid closed.

“I don’t think that one likes me,” she muttered.

August said nothing, releasing the handcuffs with brisk, sure movements. The metal clicked free and fell away, and she rubbed her wrists, wincing slightly. “Where are we?”

“The Flynn apartment.”

Kate’s eyes widened. She’d known South City didn’t enjoy the same kind of luxury as the North, hadn’t expected Henry Flynn’s place to look like Callum Harker’s, but she was still struck by the difference, the utter normalcy of it. The penthouse at Harker Hall was a thing of steel and wood and glass, all edges, but this place looked . . . well, it looked like a home. Something lived in.

August led her down an entry hall and into the main room, a kitchen opening onto a sitting area, a blanket thrown over the couch. Down a short hall she saw an open door, a violin case leaning against the edge of a bed.

“What are we doing here?”

“I pleaded your case,” said August. “Convinced Henry to release you into my custody, at least for the night, so try not to do anything rash.”

“But it suits me so well.”

She was trying to defuse the tension, but August didn’t smile. Everything about him was stiff, as if they’d never met.

“What’s with the act?”

The slightest furrow formed between his eyes. “What act?”

“The steely, dark-eyed soldier act.” She crossed her arms. “Don’t get me wrong, it’s a nice look—I just don’t know why you’re still wearing it.”

August straightened. “I’m the captain of the task force.”

“Okay, so that explains the clothing. What about the rest?”

“What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean.” What had he once said about going dark? That every time he did, he lost a piece of what made him human. Kate refused to believe he’d lost this much. “What happened to you?”

“Things change,” he said. “I’ve changed with them. And so have you.” He took a sudden step toward her, and the hairs on her arms stood on end. His gray eyes tracked across her face, his intensity uncomfortable. “Why did you come back?”

“Gee thanks, I missed you, too.”

“Stop deflecting.”

“I already told Soro—”

“I watched the feed,” he cut in. “I heard your answers. But I also saw . . .” He hesitated, as if looking for the words.

Kate’s chest tightened. The camera. There had been a moment—a fraction of a breath—when she’d forgotten about the camera and looked up, desperate to escape Soro’s gaze. She thought she’d caught herself in time.

“What happened to you in Prosperity, Kate?”

She fought to keep the words down. “Look, it’s been a hell of a day and—”

“This is important.”

“Just give me a minute—”

“So you can think of another way to bend the truth, to tell me something that’s not entirely a lie? No. What happened to you?”

Kate fought for air, for thought, the words rising in her throat.

August caught her by the shoulders. “Answer me.”

The order was like a blow against a breaking dam. The last of her resolve faltered, failed. She tried to clench her teeth, but it was no use—the truth came pouring out. She heard the words leave her lips, felt them slide across her tongue, traitorous and smooth. A confession.

“It was like falling . . . ,” she began.

She told him about the shadow in the dark, the monster she’d faced and fought, the one she was still fighting, the truth of how she’d tracked the thing here to Verity.

And then it was out, filling the air between them like smoke.

Kate drew in a shaky breath as his hands fell away, shock scrawled across his face.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I shouldn’t have—”

Her fist cracked against his jaw.

It was like hitting a brick wall, but she had the satisfaction of watching his head snap sideways before the pain tore up her hand. She recoiled, clutching her fist as August touched his face, obviously more surprised than hurt.

“No,” she snarled. “You shouldn’t have.”

But the blow had done something, dislodged some small fragment of the August she knew—he looked wounded.

Kate took a step back and then another, and another, until her shoulders met the wall. Blood wept between her knuckles, and the silence between them was so thick that she could hear it.

August probably could, too. He went to the sink, picking up a towel and filling it with ice before holding it out, like an offering. Kate took it and held the cloth to her throbbing hand.