The Never List (Never List #1)

Rylee

"I could arrest you for dressing like that." A familiar, authoritative voice sounds behind me, sending a shiver down my spine. "But you know that, don't you, Rylee?"

I freeze on the cobblestones. I've just crossed the border into Leaf and Claw—a city I'm definitely not allowed to be in.

I sense him before he touches me, like ice flooding my veins. Stopping or dodging his hand will only bring trouble—and on a night like this, trouble is the last thing I need.

Turner's hand clamps around my elbow, dragging me around the corner of an unassuming stone tavern into a narrow, deserted alley. My heart hammers against my ribs. He's boxed me in, and no one will hear us over the celebration inside. Unless someone stumbles out to relieve themselves, I'm entirely on my own.

"I…" I glance down at the muted purple-and-green sheath dress borrowed from my best friend, Ivy. It's elegant, even if it's made from common materials sourced from Cedar and Silk, and long enough to cover my ash-caked shoes.

As an Ashlander—the lowest class in Lumathyst—I'm not supposed to wear clothes above my station, let alone cross borders. But I would have stuck out like a sore thumb in my own clothes—brown, threadbare cotton pants and tunic—so I thought Ivy's dress was safer. Clearly not.

"What trouble are you getting into tonight?" Turner presses, herding me deeper into the alley. His golden Kings' Enforcer uniform strains against his stocky frame, looking like it might pop at the seams. His face is round, that smug, domineering grin transforming him into something I've come to fear over the past six months.

It hadn't been like that in the beginning.

At first, he'd been a fun distraction. Seducing a Kings' Enforcer is no easy feat for an Ashlander like me, and he seemed like a good ally to have. Enforcers are the power on the streets, doing the kings' bidding to keep us all in line, and being on Turner's good side has kept me out of prison a time or two.

But it didn't take me long to figure out who he really is and what he really likes… which is to take, punish, and terrorize. He's held me in a trap ever since, wielding his authority over me like a weapon.

"I'm not getting into any trouble," I finally answer, slipping into an innocent tone. Of all the times for him to patrol this border, why now?

I have one shot at finding my sister, and tonight is it. Considering what I intend to do could land me in prison—or worse, get me killed—I really don't have time for this.

"That's hard to believe," he says, shoving me back against the wall.

I flinch, then take a deep breath and slip on a mask of indifference mixed with a vacant stare. He likes it better when I play dumb. Likes it when I pretend I don't have the strength to put two thoughts together outside of saying *yes*.

He slides his short sword out of its sheath, hovering the tip just in front of my neck. It takes everything I have not to flinch at the sight of that fucking sword—the one he's threatened me with more times than I can count.

"I'm not out to cause any trouble," I reassure him.

"Then what's an Ashlander like you doing wearing something like this?" He gently taps the thin fabric of my dress with the flat of his blade.

Caught like this, Turner has grounds to throw me in the royal dungeons or ship me across the seas. Not for the first time, I fall into a well of hate for the kings who, centuries ago, decided to draw lines on a map, ensuring anyone born on the wrong side was stripped of rights the wealthy take for granted.

"You're not thinking of trying to sneak into the Choosing, are you?" he asks.

I widen my smile until it hurts and graze my fingers down the hilt of his sword suggestively. "You think I'm foolish enough to do that?"

"I hope not, seeing as it's what killed your sister."

I blink. Slowly. Nothing going on in my mind, indeed. Definitely not thoughts of turning that blade on him. See how he likes it. Definitely not the argument dancing on my tongue: *my sister isn't dead.*

She's not. She can't be.

"Wait," he says with a hoarse laugh. "Tell me you didn't win one of the lottery invitations and you think this"—he drags the tip of his sword down my bodice—"is what royalty wears?"

Another blink. I add a mindless giggle for good measure. "An Ashlander has never won an invitation," I say. I gesture to the wall behind me, toward the sounds of music and merriment. "The taverns. The barkeeps shower girls with free drinks on Choosing night. I just want to have a little fun with my friends," I continue, pursing my lips in a pout. "Can't I have a little fun tonight, Turner?"

The act makes me want to vomit, forced to behave this way in the hopes he'll let me go. On any other night, I might've risked trying to fight him off, but that takes time I don't have. The Choosing will start soon, and I only have a small window to do what I need to do.

Turner laughs hard enough to spray spit onto my cheek. My eye twitches, but I don't break. I have to get to Ivy's quickly, and I don't have time for a scene, especially not an argument that could lead to him messing up my face. I have to look pristine tonight. No ash, no dirt, and definitely no bruises.

"The things you Ashlanders do for a drink," he says, reining in his laughter. He looks over my body again, and my skin crawls. He doesn't own me, and I hate… hate that I ever let him between my legs. Hate that I ever thought he was decent, kind. It was all a show to ensnare me. The snake.

"I suppose I can let you off this one time," he says finally, stepping to the side.

A fraction of breath works its way into my lungs, and I take a step away—

He grips my wrist so hard it stings as he jerks me back. His sword clangs against the stone wall right in front of my face, stopping me dead.

It takes every ounce of willpower I possess to bury the power rising in my veins. It would be so easy to release a sharp blast of wind and toss him into the wall opposite us. I could knock him out and make a break for it.

But then he'd know my secret.

"On one condition," he says.

I reaffix my smile. It's my only armor against him right now, the only thing keeping him from looking deeper at my lies.

"As long as I can see you when you're done scrounging free drinks," Turner says. "I've never been with you when you've been drinking," he continues. "I bet that's all kinds of fun."

Bile rises in my throat, and my cheeks hurt from the effort it takes to keep grinning.

"Midnight," I say, even though I want to tell him no for the hundredth time. Tell him to go fuck himself. Tell him he can't keep doing this to me. Can't keep threatening to arrest me if I say no—but he'd just use it as an excuse to take me in right here and now, haul me down to the prison, and lock us both in a cell.

I can't risk that. I have one shot—

"Midnight," he says, sheathing his sword and releasing my wrist. The blood flows back so quickly it burns. "Right here." He indicates the alley as he takes a step away from me.

I walk as briskly as I dare to the edge of the alleyway.

"Don't be late," he calls from behind me. "You know what happens if you are."

My hands tremble as I glance over my shoulder, nodding at him. I won't be late; I won't be here.

If I'm lucky, I'll find out what happened to my sister. If I'm not lucky?

Then Turner will be the least of my problems.