Nightingale by Jennifer Estep Page B

undetected. He’d just assume I’d broken in and dumped him there.
    I dragged Talon inside and locked the door behind me. It was dark, but thanks to my enhanced eyesight, I didn’t need a flashlight to make my way down the hall. The sled didn’t glide as well on the carpet as it had on the snow, but I huffed and puffed my way to the service elevator and rode it up to the second floor.  
    I pulled Talon out onto the main balcony, flipped open my knife, and cut through the tape that bound him to the sled. Then, I grunted, heaved, and shoved him up into one of the cushioned chairs, making sure he was far away from the edge.
    As I tried to make Talon as comfortable as possible, my hand brushed his visor. I tried to pull my fingers away, but I wasn’t quick enough. The damn thing shocked me again, even through my black fleece gloves.
    Unauthorized user alert! Unauthorized user alert! The mechanized voice boomed out through the open auditorium, echoing back to me. Then, the bars shot out the sides, and the visor went into full-fledged, self-defense mode.
    I grimaced at the noise and wrung out my tingling fingers. I should have been happy this would be the last time I’d ever get zinged by that damn visor—but I wasn’t.
    I dropped to my knees in front of Talon. He slumped in the chair, head back, arms loose at his sides, like he was relaxing and ready to catch a show, instead of sleeping off a pill. I leaned forward and pressed my palm against his heart, saying goodbye. Heat soaked into my gloves, reminding me of Talon’s body moving against my own.  
    I dropped my hand, got to my feet, and turned away.
    I reached down to pick up my pitiful red sled, and a creak of leather caught my attention. I looked up. Talon’s head swiveled from side to side, as if he was looking for somebody—me. I froze. The superhero was waking up.  
    I quietly scooted away from him, abandoning the sled, and pulled my black toboggan farther down onto my head and my scarf higher up on my face.  
    Bandit’s gas must have been wearing off as well, because Talon turned his head in my direction, drawn by my furtive moments.
    “Nightingale?” he murmured, his words slurring together. “What’s going on?”
    “Just sit still.” I kept backing away. “The drug will wear off soon. You’ll be fine in a few minutes.”
    “Wait …” he called out.
    It was too late. I’d already run down the stairs.
    #
    After smashing one of the convention center’s front doors, I ran back to my building, if you could call falling, stumbling, and sliding along icy patches running. I didn’t stop until I was back in my loft with the door locked behind me.  
    I pulled off my chilled clothes, trudged into the bathroom, and took a long, hot bath, trying to pretend like everything was normal. Trying not to think about how Talon had pulled me into the tub with him last night. Or how we’d spent our time together today.  
    After an hour, I got out, dried off, and put on my warmest, softest Bella Bulluci fleece pajamas. But the material didn’t feel as smooth against my skin as it usually did. I doubted anything would besides Talon’s hands. I wasn’t likely to forget his touch anytime soon. That was another curse of having supersenses—everything got imprinted on my memory that much more. The good, the bad, the heartbreaking.
    I shut the drapes, climbed into bed, and snuggled into my microfleece sheets. They too were the softest on the market, part of Bella’s homewear collection. Normally I could go to sleep in a matter of minutes, drifting away into the blackness that waited. But tonight I couldn’t—because my pillows and sheets were full of his clean, minty scent.
    I buried my nose in one of the pillows and thought about Talon. I wondered if he’d left the convention center by now. If he had his sight back. If he was angry with me. Or just relieved I was gone. I felt panicked, confused, and sad about the whole thing.
    Come on, Abby! I chided myself.