Chapter 19: The Cup Again

Willa's POV

I went to my old room in the late morning to get my brother's good jacket.

They would stand him in front of two packs at noon, and he had no coat but the old leather one.

The pack house was quiet. Two wolves slept in chairs by the cellar door where they had put Rhys for the night.

I went up the back stairs, over the kitchen, to the room I had slept in since I was six.

The door was open an inch.

I never left it open.

I pushed it with two fingers, and I smelled him before I saw him.

Sweat, and cheap soap, and something sharp and metallic underneath.

Dean sat on the end of my bed.

He looked thinner.

His right arm hung in a dirty sling, and his hazel eyes were red-rimmed.

On his knee was a small canvas bag, tied at the neck.

"Hi, Willa," he said.

I didn't move.

"Close the door," he said. "Please. I don't want to shout."

"If you shout, I'll kill you."

"I know."

I closed the door and stayed against it.

"You were in the Cairnfell cage," I said. "Who cut the chain?"

"A man with a pierced ear and a pair of bolt cutters. Odette sent him."

He laughed, a thin, awful sound.

"She's very organized. She paid for the bolt cutters."

"What's in the bag?"

"What do you think?"

He untied the string and tilted it so I could see.

Grey dust, fine as flour, sparkling.

My wrists started to burn on their own, remembering.

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