Page 475 - Fourth Wing

nonchalant as possible as I walk toward my desk—which miraculously

survived—and bend down to gather a few of my books we’d knocked to the
floor.

“I had a leadership meeting and needed to get an early start.” His arm

brushes against mine as he leans down and picks up my favorite book of
fables, the one Mira slipped into my rucksack once we’d gotten back to

Montserrat that night.

“Oh.” My chest lightens. “That makes perfect sense.” I stand, putting my
texts on the desk. “So it wasn’t because I snore or anything.”

“No.” A corner of his mouth rises. “How did training with Carr go?”

Nice subject change.
“I can wield, but I can’t aim, and it’s completely exhausting.” My mouth

purses, thinking back to the first strike I wielded. “You know, you were
kind of an asshole on the flight field yesterday.”

His grip tightens on the book. “Yes. I told you what I thought you needed

to hear to get through the moment. I know you don’t like other people to see
you vulnerable, and you…”

“Were vulnerable,” I finish.
He nods. “If it makes you feel better, I couldn’t keep anything down after

the first time I killed anyone, either. I don’t think less of you for having a

reaction like that. Just means you still have your humanity.”
“So do you,” I say, gently taking the book from him.

“That’s debatable.”

Says the man who has one hundred and seven scars on his back. “It’s not.
Not to me.”

He looks away, and I know he’s going to have his defenses up any second

now.
“Tell me something real,” I say, desperate to keep him with me.

“Like what?” he asks, just like he did before when we were flying, when
he left me sitting on that mountain when I had the nerve to ask about his