Worlds Apart

Chapter 37

K N O T T E D • T H O R N S

By nightfall, they were in another safe house in the heart of the city, where buildings rose into the sky like spires of giant sand castles, dozens of Sagrada Familias puncturing the skyline. It was the posh neighbourhood of the city and surprisingly very small, although distinct from the rest.

Their host and Bullets sympathiser was a Marked woman in her sixties—Ikal, if Daisha recalled Riona's impromptu tunnel lesson correctly. She had let them in wordlessly through the back door before shooing them up the stairs and into spare guest bedrooms. She was instructed to lay Naia down in a lower room where she could be treated properly; everyone else was supplied with first-aid kits to patch up scratches and bruises. Daisha had only caught a glimpse of the grandeur of the house in the darkness—of delicate, woven tapestries and intricate stained-glass windows. Riona seemed at home in the opulence; Daisha was simply relieved to be sleeping somewhere other than those damp tunnels with access to a warm shower.

Nestled in bed, she watched the sky swirl with stars outside the long arching windows, feeling as though she was camping in Sussex with her family again, ten years old and content, a safe home to return to when she had had her fun. Now? She would be surprised if she ever saw her parents again. Daisha was trying to be optimistic, focusing on the goal to get her through her days— something she used to be quite good at—but each passing day felt harder, more tiring, and she was starting to wonder whether it would be worth it when it was done. This was new ground and she had no idea how to navigate it.

Unbidden, the image of her parents, growing older each year, hunched on the couch in a cold, empty house that had no more weekend visitors came to her. They must think both their children died in some freak accident. The thought hurt. She had to bring their family back, even if it took years of living in hiding, of loneliness, paranoia, and secrecy. She just hoped she would still be familiar enough to be called their child after that.

Daisha closed her eyes. She was exhausted after today's journey—they had chosen to keep moving with as infrequent breaks as possible. They had to get away from the scene of the crime quickly. Riona had been solemn, eyes fixed on the ground, only talking when spoken to. They all were worried but Daisha figured it was better to let her mope. She had to realise her brother was not changing on her own. Daisha needed time to accept that fact, too.

The past few months felt like a nightmare she wished desperately to wake up from, back in her London office, Owen teasing her when he caught her dozing at her desk. Could she allow another to go through the same thing?

She thought her salvation would be his forgiveness, that moving on would be her final revenge against the monster who tore her life apart. Daisha thought of the mangled body at the hotel. That didn't seem to be the answer.

Elin seemed to be clinging to the hope that Neàl's outburst would force him into the limelight and he would finally face the consequences for his actions. Daisha would never tell her, but she doubted it. Someone behind the scenes was preventing it. She knew how these things worked: some innocent but plausibly involved bystander would be blamed instead. She had been a scapegoat before, after all. Missing staplers, missing files, sabotaged documents, neglect of duty until she had grown sick of the pointing fingers and quit. She had known it was her colleague, the peaked-in-high school jock that was friendlier than her and whiter than her and so their higher-ups covered for his more serious transgressions without hesitation.

Daisha sighed. There was no point thinking about it—tomorrow morning they would head for the train yards, and by the day after they would be in Wim. If things went well, they would be in Dalbyen minutes later, ready to go home.