I’m moments away from losing my mind. I want to strip off her sweater. I want to unhook her bra. I want her to undress in front of me before I—
This is madness.
Common sense is returned to me only through a brutal, agonizing reclamation of self-control, just enough for me to place a hand over hers, forcing myself to breathe slowly.
“We can’t do this here,” I say, hating myself even as I say it. “Not here. Not now.”
She looks around herself then as if emerging from a dream, the real world coming back into focus by degrees. I take advantage of her distraction to put myself to rights, stunned to realize I was only moments away from doing something reckless.
Ella’s disappointment is palpable.
“I need to take you to bed, love,” I say, my voice still rough with desire. “I need hours. Days. Alone with you.”
She nods, her ring catching the light as she reaches for me, collapsing against my chest. “Yes. Please. I really hope you’re not planning on falling asleep tonight.”
I laugh at that, the sound still a bit shaky. “One day we’ll have a proper bed,” I say, kissing her forehead. “And then I doubt I will ever sleep again.”
Ella jerks back suddenly.
Her eyes widen with something like comprehension, then delight. She nearly bounces up and down before taking my hand, and with only a sharp exclamation of excitement, she tugs me forward.
“Wait— Ella—”
“I still have something to show you!” she cries, and breaks off into a run.
I have no choice but to chase after her.
ELEVEN
At first, I hear only Ella’s laughter, the effortless joy of a carefree moment. Her hair whips around her as she runs, streaming in the sun. I enjoy this sight more than I know how to explain; she runs through the several remaining feet of undeveloped land into the center of an abandoned street, all with the uninhibitedness of a child. I’m so entranced by this scene that it’s a moment before I register the distant scream of an ungreased hinge: the repetition of steel abrading itself. My feet finally hit pavement as I follow her down the neglected road, the impact of my boots on the ground signifying the sudden change in place with hard, definitive thuds. The sun bears down on me as I run, surprising me with its severity, the light undiminished by cloud or tree cover. I slow down as the distant whine grows louder, and when the source of this keening finally comes into view, I skid to a sudden stop.
A playground.
Rusted and abandoned, a set of swings screeching as the wind pushes around their empty seats.
I’ve seen such things before; playgrounds were common in a time before The Reestablishment; I saw a great deal of them on my tours of old unregulated territory. They were built most often in areas where there existed large groupings of homes. Neighborhoods.
Playgrounds were not known to be found at random near densely forested areas like the Sanctuary, nor were they built for no reason in the middle of nowhere.
Not for the first time, I’m desperate to understand where we are.
I wander closer to the rusting structure, surprised to feel a distinct lack of resistance when I step onto the haunted play area. The playground is built atop material that gives a bit when I walk; it seems to be made from something like rubber, surrounded otherwise by concrete pavers anchored by metal benches, paint peeling in sharp ribbons. There are long stretches of dirt beyond the borders, where no doubt grass and trees once thrived.
I frown.
This couldn’t possibly be any part of the Sanctuary—and yet there’s no question at all that we’re still within Nouria’s jurisdiction.
I look around then, searching for Ella.
I catch a glimpse of her before she disappears down yet another poorly paved road—the asphalt ancient and cracked—and silently berate myself for falling behind. I’m about to cross what appears to be the remains of an intersection when suddenly she’s back, her distant figure rushing into view before coming to a halt.
She noticed I was gone.
It’s a small gesture—I realize this even as I react to it—but it makes me smile nonetheless. I watch her as she spins around, searching the street for me, and I lift a hand to let her know where I am. When our eyes finally meet she jumps up and down, waving me forward.
“Hurry,” she cries, cupping her mouth with her hands.
I clear the distance between us, analyzing my surroundings as I do. The old street signs have been vandalized so completely they’re now rendered meaningless, but there remain a few traffic lights still hung at intervals. Relics of the old speaker system installed in the early days of The Reestablishment have survived as well, the ominous black boxes still affixed to lampposts.