Colton~~

Iris drives her punch into my stomach. I grimace, grabbing her arm in both my hands. I twist her around, bringing her into a position that if she moves, her arm will break.

Iris reaches back with her other arm, her fingers opening and closing—clawing. She mutters something about stupid eyeballs.

Thankfully my rather lovely eyeballs remain just out of reach of her nails.

While her hand grapples for my eyes, Bently charges across the training room. Not wanting to risk being brought down with her, I let go and step out of the way as Bently crashes against her, sending them both down on the gray mat.

On the other end of the training room, Erik, Andrew, and Basile spar.

Iris squirms underneath Bently, but there's no getting away. He's sprawled out on her like a bear that fell from the sky.

"Comfortable?" I ask.

Iris narrows her eyes, her face red. Bently must be making it hard to breathe.

"Don't tell me you'd rather train with them." I jerk my chin toward the other group.

Bently shifts onto his elbows and looks down at her, their faces inches apart. "You'd rather it was Erik you were under?"

Iris presses her lips into a thin line. "I'm going to kill you."

"You wouldn't be the first to try, my dear."

Iris tries to throw him off to no avail. In the end, it doesn't matter because Bently starts laughing and rolls off her onto the floor, lying flat on his back. His laugh is deep and loud like he doesn't care who hears him losing his composure.

Basile, Andrew, and Erik send looks our way.

"You aren't that funny," Iris says as she pulls herself to her feet. She gives me a look telling me she's ready to go ahead. I step forward, but she ducks around me and drives her elbow into my back. "Call home."

I turn, sizing her up.

Still laughing, Bently pulls himself up from the floor.

"No."

"Colton, you're the only one of the three of us who has a phone. They need to know why we fled from the French. And the Amoris."

"I've already told Gwen about there being an Amoris." I lunge for her, driving a punch to her stomach. She sidesteps it, kicking the back of my knee. My leg gives out, and I lose balance.

"But have you contacted her since?"

I right myself.

"We can't risk my phone being tracked." I slam against her, pinning her against the wall. "We'll just have to live with my family thinking we're bad guys."

She rams her knees into my thigh.

My hold doesn't falter.

"We managed to find Erik and Andrew." Iris stops fighting. "Can we risk Sebastian and Tobias doing the same as well?"

"The Society is loyal to the Society."

Bently's arm wraps around my neck. "You sure about that?" He jerks my neck in the direction of Erik, Andrew, and Basile wrestling.

"I get your point."

Bently pulls me upright, away from Iris. "Can we trust them?"

Iris crosses her arms. "As Erik says, everyone can be trusted."

Basile stands over Erik and offers him a hand. Erik accepts it, and Basile pulls him up. Together, the three of them leave the training room.

"He also said"—Bently releases me—"that it depends on what you're trusting them with."

I swipe the back of my head across my forehead, gathering up sweat. "I need a drink," I say, excusing myself from the training room. I don't see Erik or the other two, and rather than going into the kitchen for water, I head into the bedroom, leaving it open a crack. I pull my phone out from where I stashed it under the dresser. It's dead. The battery removed.

All I would have to do to speak to my twin is push the battery back in and tap a few buttons. It's not often that I'm separated from my sister for long periods of time. I'm not really ever separated from my brother either.

There was a time when our father took the three of us up near the border of Canada. We found out later it was Montana. He drove us up into the mountains and told us to get out of the car. Jonas was fourteen. Gwen and I were twelve. We had to find our way back home. We needed to bond, my father thought.

The Estate was still in Wyoming then.

I got sick. Gwen sprained an ankle. And Jonas got a deep gash on his arm. But he was there for us. Even when the fog was thick or the nights so dark we couldn't see the root Gwen tripped over, he refused to let us be separated. He grabbed hold of us and held on. He went with less sleep so our sister and I could have more.

Our khaleedi. Our brother.

He got us home. Led us home.

I slip the phone back into its hiding place and head for the bedroom door, but I'm stopped before I can open it when I hear a door elsewhere slam.

"It's exactly what you want," Andrew's voice says.

"No, it's not," Erik answers.

Floorboards creak.

"You're happy," Andrew says. "You're smiling. It's disconcerting."

"I didn't realize my smile was so terrifying. I'll try to be more considerate in the future . . . Stay out of this, Basile."

"They're not going to take you back," Andrew's voice is soft, surprisingly so.

"I don't want to go back." The bedroom door swings fully open, and Erik stands in the doorway. His amber eyes widen. "What are you doing in here?"

"Going through your stuff."

He rolls his eyes and plops down on the bed. The mattress squeaks. "Get out."

I leave without a word. In the kitchen, Andrew smears butter on a slice of bread while Basile pours cups of water.

"Want a sandwich?" Andrew asks me.

"I'd say yes, but you'd probably lather it in poison."

I don't stay to see his reaction. I make my way down the two flights of stairs to the training room. I hear Iris and Bently before I see them.

"Try aiming here," Iris says.

"Like this?"

"Yes, but be mindful that if you don't block me, you leave me an easy path to your neck." A pause. "Try again."

There's a thud followed by Iris letting out a sharp, pained gasp. "Very nice job." Her voice is tight.

I peer around the corner. Iris lies on her back while Bently towers over. He offers her a hand, pulling her up. He brushes her upper arms off like he's trying to get dust off her. Or maybe that's his version of a pat on the back. Bently doesn't often offer much in the way of praise.

"Look at me being trained by a rebel."

"Please." Iris rolls her eyes before they land on me. She grins. "I just taught your cousin a new move."

"Was it how to sweep a damsel off her feet?"

The skin between her eyes draws together.

Bently gives her a sideways glance. "More like how to kick the damsel off her feet."

Pop Quiz. Can anyone remember the names of the twelve positions in the Order? I'll be thoroughly impressed because I even sometimes have a hard time.