Novari had one destination in mind.

She didn't go back to her room. She didn't wait outside his room. She knew exactly what she had to do.

It wasn't to tell Seira, even though Novari knew she'd be up. How could she tell her mother that she hadn't seen it the whole time? She should've seen it. She should've seen the lies written so clearly on his face. She should've known the moment she asked—when she was on his knees, looking up at him—that the reason her tactics weren't getting him to tell was because he had nothing to tell. She should've seen it all. She didn't misread people like that.

It was all so frustrating to her. The mind games that hadn't worked, his games that had. She was one of the many, a girl who fell for the same formula that worked every time.

Novari was not going to tell Seira.

She wasn't going to sleep, either. She couldn't go to sleep with this on her mind. Not him, exactly, but the idea of him. That charming smile, those gentle fingers. The patience it took for a man like that to let her lead, the self-surety it took. All that talk of adventure and rings and repetition left her drunk mind spiralling. She was not careful, was not prone to a life of nothing new. She was not hiding in fear of the unknown.

Novari stopped in the hallway. Was this what people felt like after a night with her? Was this the kind of existential crisis they had? She didn't think so. Was he better at this than her?

She kept walking, even more determined now. Novari was the queen of seduction, of persuasion. She was not afraid of the unknown. She was calm, collected, uniquely brilliant. He was none of those things.

Before she killed him, she just needed to prove that the fluttering feeling had been a product of her own creation, not his. She had to prove she could recreate that desire with anyone else. She was the inspiration for it, not him.

Novari wasn't going to Sam. She was going to his brother.

Her footsteps made no sound in the dark and silent space, no absence of sound to prove that she'd paused in front of his door. Still, she only paused for a moment before she pushed it open. No second guesses, only surety, like him when he'd decided what he wanted.

Edward sat up in his bed, up on his elbows, leaning like Novari had been—

Oh, it was enough already. She'd done that. That feeling was hers, and she'd have it again with someone she'd saved for this very moment. Somebody fresh and new and exciting and bold. Not repetitive at all.

"Evening, love," she whispered. She moved around the bed and folded a leg under her as she sat.

He was frozen for a moment, still drunk. He'd thought he'd have to play the long game, reel her in and in and in. He never thought it'd be this easy, and she took his confusion in stride.

No wasted time. He was out of his mind with lust, like always. He lost his confidence the moment her lips touched his, forgot how his hands worked, misjudged distance and acted like a fool. Like always.

In stride. Let him adjust. Let him realize she wasn't the Devil or the angels, she was just a person. Just like everyone else. Let him get comfortable, then he'd give her that feeling.

But he didn't. He never calmed down, never got comfortable, never even got close to recreating what she wanted. Edward was not a fraction of what she wanted. No zest or confidence, no patience or elegance. Nothing. Just like everyone else.

She wanted to blame it on the liquor, blame it on Edward, even blame it on herself. Blame anything and everything for this happening.

Novari reached for his shirt, anything that might spark something. She was willing to be the kind of person who tore siblings apart and played with people as payback for someone else. Anything to feel original again.

But his fingers were lead, afraid to touch at first and too heavy after that. They were invisible, unfeeling. It was not unique, was not different. It was just...repetitive.

*

She rolled over, the morning sun mocking her as she sat up. She ground her teeth together for a moment, trying to pull herself together. She'd spent the whole night with his hot skin against her back, his arm tossed lazily over her. She felt suffocated and too warm and just generally disgusted. Even then, as he sat up, his messy hair she'd previously seen as nonchalance just seemed tasteless. Bardarian's hair was always brushed through, even if just with his fingers. He was put together and presentable.

Novari closed her eyes. Even now, there he was, taking up space. Perhaps if she'd spent the night in his musty cell, she would've been more comfortable.

"Novari?"

Angels, even his voice grated on her nerves. He was too small, too unfitting, too tentative. She didn't want to look at him, listen to him. Nothing.

"Novari?"

She pushed away from him. Him and his useless nature.

"Wait, Novari. Hold on. Don't leave."

She was leaving before he could find his shirt, before he could say anything else. She didn't slam the door because she couldn't summon the urge to care enough about how it looked to him. Repulsive.

Moving quickly down the hall, Novari found her own room. She opened the door to find Keira sitting on her bed.

"Get out."

Keira lifted her brows. "Snappy. Look, I wanted to tell you—" She cut off, looking Novari up and down as she went to her vanity. "You look...dishevelled. I don't think you've ever looked dishevelled."

"Get out," Novari said pointing the brush at her. She'd throw it if she had to.

"Oh!" Keira shouted, jumping up a little. "You know what you look like? You look like you slept with someone you shouldn't have. Oh, for the life of me, Novari, I beg you to tell me it was Bardarian. Please."

Novari closed her eyes. She tossed the brush on the bed, then shook her head. Keira was silent for a moment.

She finally spoke, "It wasn't Bardarian."

"No? Who, then?"

"Just—" Novari waved her hand a little. "Did you want something?"

Keira glanced over at her and sighed, realizing her fun was over. "Yeah, well, I just wanted to thank you, I guess. In the mealroom, you said something."

Novari opened her eyes to look at Keira again. What was she talking about? Oh, the starving comment. Right. She looked at Keira, really looked, and found her gauntness unnerving. Her frail look felt dangerous to Novari.

"I don't really understand how you do it," Keira admitted, picking at her fingers. "With the confidence, your shape. How do you know how much to eat before you don't look quite right?"

Novari lifted her brows. It had never been a question to her. To her, energy was the path to muscle and skill, to winning. It was her weapon.

"Your body is quite good at telling you that, love," Novari replied. "You just have to choose to listen to it."

Keira pursed her lips. Novari could imagine what she was thinking—that everything was just easier for Novari. She was just beautiful, was just what people wanted, but that wasn't quite right. Novari was what people wanted because she was satisfied with herself.

"You're too thin, love," she told Keira. Maybe that was too direct, but she wasn't great at subtlety. "Look at you," she said. "I could snap you in half. Isn't it better to be capable of the snapping than be the one that gets snapped?"

Keira rolled her eyes, feigning anything but her raw feeling of embarrassment. She picked at her fingers a little more. "Thanks," she said. "For noticing, I guess. For caring."

Novari tried to decide if she really cared at all. She wasn't sure. Maybe it just bothered her that the Sirens were destroying even more people's lives than hers.

As Keira was getting up to leave, Novari sat up.

"You're experienced, aren't you?" she asked quickly.

Keira looked her up and down once. Then she seemed to understand what Novari was hinting at. She laughed. "Well, I suppose," she said, her tone light. "But not more than you, I'd guess."

Novari nodded, laying back down on the bed. "It's fine. You can go."

Keira walked forward and sat down on the bed again, maintaining her distance. "You keep everything to yourself, Novari. Maybe it's time you told someone something. You know, shared a little gossip. It's fun."

Novari held her gaze for a long time. She was attempting to intimidate her into leaving, but Keira stayed, holding the contact.

She gave in. "Bardarian—"

Keira scooted forward, her eyes huge. "I knew it—but you said you weren't with him?"

Novari sighed. "I wasn't. I was with Edward."

"Nova!" Keira shrieked with excitement, taking a fistful of blanket. "You're with Sam!"

Novari shrugged, letting the pillows encompass her. "Bardarian got in my head. I wanted to get him out."

"Did it work?"

"No."

Keira's eyes scanned around. "So in the span of one night you"—she ticked them off on her fingers—"did something mysterious with the King of the Sea." She ticked off another finger and said, "Most assuredly formed a rift between two brothers and"—she held up a third finger—"did you find out where the map was?"

"I found out where the map...is not."

Keira leaned forward and settled onto her stomach beside Novari. "Was it good?" she asked. "Bardarian?"

Novari glanced at her with a turn of her head. "He's fine. He's good."

Keira grinned. Her teeth were perfectly straight. "You know, if you have a soulmate, it's going to be him. You're both morally corrupt. It's a match made in heaven. Or hell. One of the two." She fiddled with her thumbs, but it wasn't exactly a nervous gesture.

Novari looked back at the ceiling. "Rule number five," she said.

Keira rolled her eyes. "Do something absurd for once in your damn life. Do something other than devote your life to a flawed set of rules. Your rules are so safe. I never pegged you for safe."

Novari waved her away, deciding the conversation was over. "Off you go."

Keira gave her a pointed look and rolled off the bed. "Fine, then. I'll see you."

Novari took a deep breath. It was enough with all of this; it was time for her to deal with her mother.

Walking down the hall with silent steps, she dragged her fingers along the wall. As she moved, she heard voices from in front of her. At the recognition of them, she stepped into a hallway to avoid them, listening as they passed by. Nobody interesting.

She entered the mealroom, which was dizzy with breakfast. Smells wafted over to her and she ignored them, using her mind for other things. She found Seira by the main table.

The other eyes at the table found Novari quickly, dropping their hushed conversation as though continuing it would hurt them.

Seira spun around, her eyes uncharacteristically calm. "What's the verdict?"

Novari didn't take a deep breath. She kept her expression neutral. "Bardarian doesn't have the map. He doesn't have anything."

Seira tilted her head, as though this whole thing was a carefully crafted joke. "Impossible," she said.

"Possible," Novari replied quickly. "He pretended to have it because we assumed he did. He doesn't."

Seira began to panic. Novari could see it in her yellow eyes. She'd put a hell of a lot of effort into Bardarian and the Avourienne, and this was more than a setback to her. It was interesting, watching that panic so clearly. Wasn't Seira supposed to hide things like that?

"That's impossible," Seira whispered.

Novari didn't answer for a moment. Then she said, "What do I do with him?"

Seira's eyes flickered, reminding Novari of the Sirens that still had tails. "Just...put him back in the cells. Starve him for a bit. He might remember something then."

"He doesn't know. I'm sure."

Seira bit her lip, suddenly looking ten years younger. When Novari said she was sure, she was sure.

"I—just put him back in the cells."

Novari turned on her heel, leaving her mother to her terrifying realization. Seira was insatiable. She wanted that map. She wanted the chest. She wanted her life to be permanent. She couldn't handle a loss like this any more times than she already had.

At the door, Novari ran into Edward. He was walking in front of Sam, both of their faces lacking any sense of enthusiasm. There was pain in Sam's murky eyes, and Novari hated it. She hated the repetition of shattering yet another heart. Always the same.

"Put Bardarian back in his cell," she said to them. "Both of you. Take weapons." She tried to leave, but Edward hurried after her, leaving Sam in the doorway.

He let out a long sigh and reached out to pull her back. "You have to stop, Novari. You have to explain to me what the hell that was last night."

"I needed you for something. I don't anymore."

He gave her a humourless smile. "That's cruel."

"I'm cruel, but I'm also giving you something. Put Bardarian back in the cells. Prove to me that you and your brother can handle one unarmed man and maybe you'll get put somewhere important on this island."

Edward took a deep breath. "I don't want something important. I want you."

Novari backed away. Repetition, repetition. The pain in Sam's eyes, mirrored in his brother's. Always the same. It burrowed something terrifying deep into her bones. He'd been right; this was her life, forever. Searching for someone not to get broken by her so easily. She didn't look back at him as she left.

Her head was buzzing. She passed by Bardarian's door, unwilling to stop or slow in the vicinity of it. She fled to her room and wrapped herself deep in the covers. She needed to rest her mind. Sleep it off. When she woke, Bardarian would be in the cells, and she wouldn't ever have to look at him again until somebody put a bullet through him. Seira and her would move on.

This was just a very minuscule stipulation.