her, clung to her, stuck to her, but I didn’t know why. I was just addicted to it.
Then I was caught hanging with Story, and that feeling I thought was all mine, corrupted into hot shame. It became theirs.
I didn’t want to admit—couldn’t admit—that what we had was real. So I took the bet. There was no harm in it.
She’d never find out.
I’d never get that far with her.
I just liked talking to her. I liked that there was a piece of this planet my parents didn’t touch. A piece for me.
Then that night—
It cut off abruptly. I wondered what would have caused him to stop writing so quickly, for the ink to bleed halfway into the blank page like he’d hurriedly stopped writing and slammed the book shut. I scanned through pages and pages looking for more, addicted on insight, until I found the next entry, dated March.
Every now and then, I get a ghost sensation. I feel their hands slam into mine when I come out of the servants’ quarters. I hear their laughter.
And I hear mine.
I didn’t even fucking know they saw me go down to her.
It was easier to stop going to Crowne Hall than it was to see her. Why would I explain anything to her anyway? My father had my life planned out for me. She was a blip. A nothing.
But there had been a few minutes, when through the small, uneven window in her bedroom, I could see the moon. Her breathing was soft, and she was warm. For a moment, my life wasn’t laid out for me. I didn’t see every year until my death.
It was perfect.
It was the only perfect moment in my life.
How do I say sorry for that? If I say sorry, it means the only perfect moment in my life was wrong.
Tears fell, wetting the ink on the pages. There weren’t many pages left, and West had written in a way that left many blank, but I kept flipping them.
My fingers felt numb as I did so.
The only entry after that, was dated the night before he died. It was weird, I wanted to know what had gone through his mind all the time he was with me, keeping me captive. I wanted to know why he did the things he did, but there was nothing, no entry.
So I read the final entry, dated the night he’d kissed me and called himself the villain.
I took it for granted. I thought her song would wait until I returned.
I ignored the unwritten line in that poem.
Feed the bird.
If you don’t feed the bird, the bird fucking dies.
I fucking raped her.
The best night of my life was the worst of hers.
I couldn’t keep reading as my tears fell down and smudged the words on the paper.
“I never thought I’d hear him admit it, and even now it’s just on paper. I don’t know if I’m happy or sad…or mad…or…”
I set the diary down as a rush of sobs wracked me. Grayson fell beside me on the couch, pulling me closer.
“Have you read this?” I asked.
He nodded. “After reading this, I don’t know, Story. A part of me thinks he always knew what would happen, which is why he made me promise to get Lottie out. He knew the day he agreed to work together he was going on a suicide mission.”
“So why even pretend to be winning me over?” I couldn’t breathe as the rush of just everything overwhelmed me. “Why fucking hold on to the coin? Why?”
Grayson and my eyes locked.
He wanted redemption.
“I hate him.” I chucked the journal at the wall and the brittle spine broke in two. “All these months, he had it. We could have left. We could have been free. Why is my heart breaking again?”
Grayson grabbed me, ripping me to his chest, but careful not to smush Sonnet. My tears melted into his shirt in a mess of sobs and snot.
“Because he loved you,” Grayson said. “Because he was trying to protect you. Because he died protecting and loving you. Because you’re Story Hale, and it’s your curse to feel what others don’t.”
“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I just…reading this, I’m so sad. Our win feels like a loss. I wanted to free you. I made you go from one cage back to another. This house, this place…”
He pulled my face from his chest, forcing me to see his burning eyes. “I was never shedding this cage. There are too many people relying on me to