Splintered

Chapter Fifty-Seven: The Things We Love Most

Truth.

The candlelight glowed, dancing over the projector's surface, almost like a taunt or a challenge. Yet, Hazel couldn't look away.

Truth.

She carouseled the word in her mind until it was gibberish. Just six disjointed letters mushed into meaninglessness.

An avox snuck in, setting out two pitchers with matching glasses. Hazel hardly registered the presence of either.

Snow eased into the seat across from her, resting his elbows on the table. If his twitching eyebrow was any indication, her lack of response was not exactly what he was expecting.

In spite of the warmth, her limbs were iced over. The only movement was the accelerating rise and fall of her chest, stare glued to the player as if she blinked, it would evaporate.

"Hazel?" Snow questioned softly.

When she made no indication she'd heard him, he reached forward, sweeping the contraption backward.

"Unless you've changed your mind about watching it?"

A seabreeze rushed in from the open windows, caressing her skin and playing Leo's warnings in her ear.

Don't engage in his game. Don't watch it. Don't let him win.

However, she couldn't bring herself to let go. Whatever truth was waiting on the infuriating tape, she absolutely had to know.

Breaking through her rigidity, she lunged forward, snagging his forearm, nails first. The soft material of his sleeve wouldn't stand a chance beneath her animalistic hold, and it felt wildly expensive. He stilled immediately, and she vaguely wondered if it was another creation of his cousin.

Yet it was not concern or perturbation that crossed his brow but amusement. His lips twisted to one side as he examined her claw. It wasn't often she initiated physical contact between them, and it was never overtly aggressive. Yet her actions honed his unadulterated attention.

"My mind has not changed," she said, steadily meeting his eyes.

"Are you certain you don't want a drink first?" Snow licked his lips, perusing the swan-necked bottle of sapphire alcohol waiting on the table.

"What I want, Coriolanus." She dug in just enough for his eyes to rush back to hers. "Is what you promised me." The words were iron on her tongue, "The truth."

He individually explored her irises, like he was attempting to suss out a theory. A spark sizzled through his face. She was playing his game, and he was savoring that fact, like it was finer than any blue-dyed wine.

"And don't even think about distracting me with dessert again," she interjected.

His eyes crinkled at the edges, and he placed a hand over her clawing one.

"Wouldn't dream of it."

She released him, stealing her hand from beneath his touch. Allowing her a bit of retreat, he instead gathered the wine bottle.

"You don't mind if I have a little, do you?" He asked as he poured a glassful.

Roses and sugar hit the air. She wouldn't admit it out loud, but it was night and day better than the smell of fish.

"Thought you told Festus never to drink that."

"That's precisely why I won't be offering you any." Not leaving her out, he pushed a carafe of water closer to her, but she didn't waver from watching him. "I'm sure we can get something more suitable for a lightweight if you would like?"