What’s this?”
“An apology, of sorts.”
I made a moue, but slipped the lid from the top . . . and then my breath left me.
Inside the box sat a baseball, its well-worn white leather marked by the signatures of every Cubs player from the team. It was just like the one I’d had—just like the one I’d told him about the night we made love.

Kite cleared his throat. " Gaslight Goods in a nonparty to any disputes among members of the Dark Elite. Gaslight Goods has an official position of neutrality with respect to any such disputes, and the provision of information to one party or other is not an indication in a change in that position, nor a statement of support. All rights of Gaslight Goods are reserved. Phew," he added. "Sorry about that.

Gaslight Goods. Let us be your light in the midst of life's darkness, the sunlight in your foggy day, the candle in your wind. This is Kite. How can I help you today?"
I grimaced. That was their opener?

I will have both of you," he said. "My Sentinel and my city. And the GP will learn exactly how stubborn we both can be.

I am beginning to remember what it means to need things. Laughter. Companionship. Love. "
He leant forward and pressed his forehead to mine. "And I need you, Merit.

I wanted what most people wanted—love, companionship.
I wanted someone to touch. I wanted someone to touch me back.
I wanted someone to laugh with, someone who would laugh with me, laugh at me.
I wanted someone who looked and sawme . Not my power, not my position.
I wanted someone to say my name. To call out, “Merit,” when it was time to go, or when we arrived.
Someone who wanted to say to someone else, with pride, “I’m here with her. With Merit.”
I wanted all those things. Indivisibly.
But I didn’t want them from Morgan.