Extracted by Sherry Ficklin, Tyler Jolley Read Free Book Online

most of the time they’re kind of light. But they aren’t now. They’re like midnight-blue.”
    “Yes,” he agrees, wagging his eyebrows. “You can go write a girly poem about them if you’d like. Be sure you mention my rugged jaw, too.”
    I roll my eyes and step past him, sorry I’d said anything. “I’ll call it ‘Ode to an Egotistical Tool.’ Now, if you don’t mind.” I point to the door. “Get out.”
    He grabs my arm, turning me to face him. The humor in his face is gone, replaced by an intensity I rarely see when we aren’t on an assignment. He pulls me close, clasping my hands in his. I have to hold in a shudder, which is odd because I’m really warm. Like really, really warm all of a sudden. Maybe it has something to do with the way Ethan is staring at me with those dark-blue eyes. How have I never noticed the subtle change of color before? And why is it getting really hard to breathe?
    “Before I go, I wanted to give you this.” He stuffs his hand in the pocket of his vest and pulls out a silver chain with a heavy pendant hanging off the end. I hold out my hand, and he drops it into my palm. It’s an ebony-and ivory cameo on a chain, only instead of a silhouette of a person, it’s an image of an hourglass.
    I’m too stunned to form words. It’s so beautiful. I close my fingers around it and clutch it to my chest.
    “I came across it a few months ago in a wardrobe,” he says, “and it made me think of you.”
    “You stole it,” I finish for him.
    He shakes his head. “You could just say thank you.”
    “It’s beautiful, thank you,” I say, my heart dancing its way into my throat.
    “It’ll be all right, Ember. I promise. Whatever the nightmares are about, whatever’s bothering you. It’ll be all right.”
    He’s so confident, so sure, that it’s impossible not to believe him. I smile and nod once. He steps back and looks me over. “Now go get changed. You look like crap. And it wouldn’t kill you to run a comb through that hair, either. Seriously. Have a little pride.”
    Well, that didn’t last long. I sigh and roll my eyes.
    He just blows me a kiss. “Go talk to Flynn, and I’ll meet up with you after, okay?”
    “Sure. Whatever.” I move to flip my hair back, but it’s too matted, and my hand just sort of sticks in it. So I settle for an awkward head scratch.
    He walks toward the door, looking back over his shoulder at me for a second like he might have more to say, then turns and leaves the room.
    As soon as he’s gone, I can breathe again. I feel flustered and uncomfortable, but mostly, there’s a deep sense of dread in the pit of my stomach at the idea of facing Flynn. For a minute, I debate just crawling back into bed. Yeah, right. If I don’t go to Flynn, no doubt he’ll come looking for me. And I’d rather be dressed for that particular conversation.
    * * *
    The Control Room has got to be my least favorite place in the whole building. It’s the central hub of the Tesla Institute and is filled, floor to ceiling, with computers and monitors. Unfortunately, it’s also about six stories underground and built like an old bomb shelter. The concrete walls are stained with ugly brown streaks dripping down from metal gas lamps screwed into the surface. The door itself might have been taken from an old bank vault—it’s the ultimate padlock, easily three feet thick with brass beams that, when closed, fill holes in the walls themselves. At least the upper levels try to give the illusion of being outside. Not this room. Everything about it makes me feel like I’m walking into a dungeon. I slip through and make my way beyond the workbenches in the outer room. Passing one, I’m drawn to a small metal spider-looking creature. Its bulbous head is full of red liquid. One sharp pincer is attached to the front and a tiny chainsaw-looking limb sits next to it on the table. Reaching down, I poke at the machine.
    “In here, Ember,” Flynn calls from the next room. “And