Page 137 of I Will Mend You
“I swear it. Let me give Tyler the order.”
She nods.
Turning back to the computer, I send out a string of instructions. Tyler will dig up every piece of information about Charlotte Banks. His team will station devices in her neighborhood in preparation for the raid. The Spring brothers will infiltrate her street and keep an eye on her movements. Jynxson will attach tracking devices to her vehicle.
“Three days,” she repeats.
I inhale deeply, feeling the weight of my promise. “Yes, three days.” I guide her to the kitchenette, hoping to ground her in normality. “Let’s make an early dinner.”
Amethyst sits at the counter in silence. Sometimes, the best medicine is time. I leave her to process the recent influx of memories and the return of her childhood abuser. After finding the right recipe, I open the refrigerator and gather butter, eggs, pancetta, pecorino and parmesan cheese.
“When did you get fresh ingredients?” she asks.
“Our maintenance staff supplies groceries to occupied hide-outs.” I fill a saucepan with water and set it on the stove.
“Did they teach you to cook at the Moirai academy?” she asks.
Chuckling, I extract a knife and slice open the wrappings. “They taught me to follow instructions. After months of cleaning up after their assassinations, recipes are child’s play. Want to help?”
She nods, a tentative smile breaking through the gloom. I slide over the knife and pancetta. “Dice this into small cubes.”
As she works, I grate the cheese, crack the eggs into a bowl, and whisk them until they’re fluffy. Amethyst opens the spaghetti and places it into the boiling water. I add salt to the pasta and black pepper to the eggs.
She crushes the garlic and fries the pancetta without prompting. I glance at the recipe and frown.
“It says two cloves.”
“You’re making carbonara, right?” she asks.
“How did you know?”
“It’s obvious from the ingredients,” she replies with a smirk.
“I could have been making Pasta Alfredo.”
“There’s no cream.” She adds a block of butter to the pancetta without measuring.
“This recipe is ruined,” I mutter, unable to hide a smile.
“It’s going to taste amazing.”
Warmth fills my chest as I grab the plates and set them on the counter. Amethyst is making more progress than I ever expected. For a moment, I’m awestruck by her resilience. Then, reality hits me—being abducted by Father and her sister isn’t her first encounter with trauma, or even her second. This time, though, she’ll face it head-on and retain her memories. She’ll emerge stronger.
“I can’t believe how much we have in common,” she says, her eyes misting.
“Kindred spirits,” I reply, drawing closer.
My heart pounds with unwanted intensity. It’s too early for us to have this kind of moment. It stretches for several heartbeats, charged with desire. Every instinct screams at me to close the distance, to taste her soft lips and make her forget her past, but no amount of kissing can erase the deluge of new memories. They might even set back her progress.
But then she blinks, breaking the spell, and turns back to the stove. “So, tell me about the facility you lived in before the academy.”
Disappointment clogs my throat at the abrupt shift. I swallow hard and push the feeling aside. I tell her about the exercise drills, the bunks, and the other boys. She laughs when I recount the stories of how Jynxson used to get on my nerves, rearranging my possessions until I had to rearrange his face.
“What did the facility look like?” she asks.
“Underground, with fluorescent lights, concrete walls, and a rec room that served gigantic meals. It was in the forest. I only caught glimpses of trees when they transported me to missions.”
Silence stretches, broken only by the sound of bubbling water. I glance up to find her staring.