Le véritable amour n'a existé qu'une fois

Chapter One

The body lay in perfect repose on the Victorian fainting couch, looking more like a sleeping beauty than a victim. Detective Sarah Chen had seen enough death in her ten years with the Metropolitan Police's Special Cases Unit to know that natural death never looked this peaceful. Something was very, very wrong.

        'No signs of struggle, no marks on the body, and yet...' She leaned closer, studying the victim's face. Charlotte Mills, aged 28, was found by her roommate this morning, apparently having passed away in her sleep. Her expression was serene, almost blissful, but her eyes - those were what caught Sarah's attention. Behind the closed lids, her eyes were moving rapidly, as if still deep in REM sleep.

        "You see it too, don't you?" The voice came from behind her, rich and cultured with a slight Irish lilt. "She's still dreaming."

        Sarah turned to find a tall man in an impeccably tailored charcoal suit standing in the doorway. He hadn't been there a moment ago, she was certain of it. His dark hair was streaked with silver at the temples, and his eyes were an unusual shade of amber that seemed to shift color in the light.

        "This is a closed crime scene," she said firmly, her hand instinctively moving toward her weapon. "How did you get in here?"

        He smiled, but it didn't reach those strange eyes. "Dr. Marcus Thorne," he said, pulling out a card that somehow both looked official and seemed to shimmer slightly. "I'm a consulting specialist with the Department's new Oneiric Phenomena Division."

        "The what division?" Sarah frowned, taking the card. The moment her fingers touched it, she felt a slight electric tingle, and the letters seemed to rearrange themselves before her eyes.

        "Dreams, Detective Chen. We investigate crimes involving dreams." He moved into the room with fluid grace, his attention fixed on the victim. "And this is the third one this month."

        Sarah's mind raced. There had been two other deaths recently - both young women, both found peacefully dead in their sleep. She'd seen the reports but hadn't made the connection until now. "How do you know about those cases?"

        "Because I've been tracking the killer for quite some time." Thorne knelt beside the body, his eyes now definitely more gold than amber. "He's what we call a Dream Collector - someone who has learned to enter and steal dreams. But this one has developed a taste for more than just dreams. He's taking souls."

        Under normal circumstances, Sarah would have dismissed such talk as nonsense. But there was something about the scene, about the victim's still-moving eyes, about Thorne himself, that made the impossible seem suddenly plausible.

        "If you're tracking him," she said carefully, "why haven't you caught him?"

        Thorne's expression darkened. "Because he only appears in dreams. The physical world is my domain, but his... his is the realm of sleep. To catch him, we need someone who can walk between both worlds." He turned those unsettling eyes on her. "Someone like you."

        "Me?" Sarah almost laughed, but the sound died in her throat as memories she'd long suppressed began to surface. The dreams that felt too real, the nights she'd awakened to find objects moved in her room, the way she sometimes knew things she couldn't possibly know...

        "You've always known you were different, haven't you, Detective?" Thorne's voice was gentle now. "The dreams that come true, the hunches that turn out to be right, the way you can sometimes see how people died just by touching objects they owned..."

        Sarah took an involuntary step back. "How do you know about that?"

        "Because I've been looking for someone like you. A Natural - someone born with the ability to cross the threshold between waking and dreaming." He gestured to the victim. "Charlotte here won't be his last. There will be others, and their souls will remain trapped in an eternal dream unless we stop him."

        Just then, the victim's hand twitched, her fingers moving as if writing something. Sarah moved closer, watching as invisible words were traced in the air. Thorne pulled out what looked like an antique monocle and held it up. Through its lens, golden letters shimmered in the air where Charlotte's fingers moved.

        "Help me," Thorne read aloud. "He's coming for the others."

        Sarah felt a chill run down her spine. She looked at the victim's peaceful face, at those restlessly moving eyes, and made a decision that would change her life forever.

        "Tell me what I need to do."

        Thorne's smile was grim. "First, you need to learn to control your abilities. Then..." he held up the monocle, through which Sarah could now see strange symbols glowing all around the room, "you need to learn to hunt in dreams."

        Outside the Victorian townhouse, storm clouds gathered, and Sarah Chen, homicide detective and newly discovered dream walker, took her first step into a world where nightmares were real, and death was just another kind of sleep.

Chapter Two

The basement of the Natural History Museum was the last place Sarah expected to find the headquarters of a secret dream investigation unit. Yet here she was, following Thorne through a maze of storage rooms filled with artifacts that seemed to pulse with their own inner light.

        "The mundane world only sees what it expects to see," Thorne explained, using an ornate key to unlock a heavy wooden door marked 'Private Collection.' "To them, this is just museum storage. To us, it's the largest collection of dream artifacts in the Western Hemisphere."

        The room beyond defied physics. It stretched impossibly far, filled with glass cases containing everything from ancient masks to modern-looking devices. Floating orbs of soft light illuminated collections of bottled dreams - actual dreams, swirling like liquid mercury behind glass.

        "Your badge, Detective," Thorne held out his hand. Sarah hesitated before handing over her police credentials. He placed it on a strange device that looked like a Victorian music box crossed with a computer. When he returned the badge, it felt different - heavier, somehow more real.

        "Now you'll be able to access both worlds officially," he said. "Look at it again."

        The badge had changed. Alongside her regular police credentials, new text had appeared: 'Special Inspector, Oneiric Investigations Division.' The letters seemed to shift between English and something older, something that made her eyes water if she looked too long.

        "Before we can hunt the Dream Collector, you need to understand what you're dealing with." Thorne led her to a case containing what looked like a normal pillow. "Touch it."

        Sarah reached out hesitantly. The moment her fingers made contact, the world tilted. She was suddenly standing in someone else's dream - a sunny beach, but the sky was green and the sand whispered secrets. She jerked her hand back, gasping.

        "Good," Thorne nodded approvingly. "Most people can't pull back from their first dream artifact. You have natural barriers."

        "What was that?" Sarah's heart was racing.

        "A dream fragment from 1892. A young girl's last dream before the influenza took her." His voice softened. "We preserve them here. Dreams carry memories, emotions, sometimes even pieces of souls."

        "And this Dream Collector... he takes entire souls?" Sarah remembered Charlotte Mills' peaceful face and restless eyes.

        "He traps them in eternal dreams, feeding off their essence." Thorne moved to another case, this one containing what looked like a cracked mirror. "Each victim becomes part of his collection, their souls powering his abilities, letting him dreamwalk without natural talent like yours."

        Suddenly, the cracked mirror began to frost over. In its surface, Sarah saw Charlotte Mills' face, mouth open in a silent scream. Then another face appeared - another victim, she presumed - and another.

        "He's showing off," Thorne growled. "He knows we're investigating."

        The temperature in the room dropped dramatically. Frost patterns spread from the mirror to nearby cases, and Sarah heard what sounded like distant laughter.

        "Well, well," a voice echoed through the room, seemingly coming from everywhere and nowhere. "A new player in the game. And such interesting dreams you have, Detective Chen."

        Sarah felt something brush against her mind, like cold fingers trying to pry open a door. Instinctively, she slammed her mental barriers shut. The presence withdrew, but not before leaving behind an impression of amusement.

        "He's already caught your scent," Thorne said grimly. He pulled out a small velvet bag and removed what looked like a dreamcatcher made of silver wire and black pearls. "Wear this when you sleep. It won't keep him out entirely, but it'll stop him from stealing your dreams while you're still learning to defend yourself."

        As Sarah took the dreamcatcher, her fingers brushed Thorne's, and suddenly she was hit with a flash of his dreams - centuries of memories, battles fought in realms of sleep, and a profound sense of loss that made her gasp.

        Thorne withdrew his hand quickly. "Your abilities are stronger than I thought. We'll need to work on your control."

        "What are you?" Sarah asked directly. "You're not just some government consultant, are you?"

        Before he could answer, an alarm began to sound throughout the facility. One of the dream bottles had turned black, its contents writhing like smoke.

        "He's hunting again," Thorne said, already moving toward the exit. "Someone in the city has just entered their last dream. Are you ready for your first real case, Detective?"

        Sarah touched her new badge, feeling its power hum under her fingers. "Do we have time to save them?"

        "If we're lucky, we might catch him in the act. But remember - in dreams, he's incredibly powerful. One wrong move and you could lose your soul."

        As they rushed from the dream archive, Sarah caught one last glimpse of the cracked mirror. In its surface, she saw her own reflection smile back at her with eyes that weren't quite her own.

        The hunt was about to begin.

Chapter Two

The basement of the Natural History Museum was the last place Sarah expected to find the headquarters of a secret dream investigation unit. Yet here she was, following Thorne through a maze of storage rooms filled with artifacts that seemed to pulse with their own inner light.

        "The mundane world only sees what it expects to see," Thorne explained, using an ornate key to unlock a heavy wooden door marked 'Private Collection.' "To them, this is just museum storage. To us, it's the largest collection of dream artifacts in the Western Hemisphere."

        The room beyond defied physics. It stretched impossibly far, filled with glass cases containing everything from ancient masks to modern-looking devices. Floating orbs of soft light illuminated collections of bottled dreams - actual dreams, swirling like liquid mercury behind glass.

        "Your badge, Detective," Thorne held out his hand. Sarah hesitated before handing over her police credentials. He placed it on a strange device that looked like a Victorian music box crossed with a computer. When he returned the badge, it felt different - heavier, somehow more real.

        "Now you'll be able to access both worlds officially," he said. "Look at it again."

        The badge had changed. Alongside her regular police credentials, new text had appeared: 'Special Inspector, Oneiric Investigations Division.' The letters seemed to shift between English and something older, something that made her eyes water if she looked too long.

        "Before we can hunt the Dream Collector, you need to understand what you're dealing with." Thorne led her to a case containing what looked like a normal pillow. "Touch it."

        Sarah reached out hesitantly. The moment her fingers made contact, the world tilted. She was suddenly standing in someone else's dream - a sunny beach, but the sky was green and the sand whispered secrets. She jerked her hand back, gasping.

        "Good," Thorne nodded approvingly. "Most people can't pull back from their first dream artifact. You have natural barriers."

        "What was that?" Sarah's heart was racing.

        "A dream fragment from 1892. A young girl's last dream before the influenza took her." His voice softened. "We preserve them here. Dreams carry memories, emotions, sometimes even pieces of souls."

        "And this Dream Collector... he takes entire souls?" Sarah remembered Charlotte Mills' peaceful face and restless eyes.

        "He traps them in eternal dreams, feeding off their essence." Thorne moved to another case, this one containing what looked like a cracked mirror. "Each victim becomes part of his collection, their souls powering his abilities, letting him dreamwalk without natural talent like yours."

        Suddenly, the cracked mirror began to frost over. In its surface, Sarah saw Charlotte Mills' face, mouth open in a silent scream. Then another face appeared - another victim, she presumed - and another.

        "He's showing off," Thorne growled. "He knows we're investigating."

        The temperature in the room dropped dramatically. Frost patterns spread from the mirror to nearby cases, and Sarah heard what sounded like distant laughter.

        "Well, well," a voice echoed through the room, seemingly coming from everywhere and nowhere. "A new player in the game. And such interesting dreams you have, Detective Chen."

        Sarah felt something brush against her mind, like cold fingers trying to pry open a door. Instinctively, she slammed her mental barriers shut. The presence withdrew, but not before leaving behind an impression of amusement.

        "He's already caught your scent," Thorne said grimly. He pulled out a small velvet bag and removed what looked like a dreamcatcher made of silver wire and black pearls. "Wear this when you sleep. It won't keep him out entirely, but it'll stop him from stealing your dreams while you're still learning to defend yourself."

        As Sarah took the dreamcatcher, her fingers brushed Thorne's, and suddenly she was hit with a flash of his dreams - centuries of memories, battles fought in realms of sleep, and a profound sense of loss that made her gasp.

        Thorne withdrew his hand quickly. "Your abilities are stronger than I thought. We'll need to work on your control."

        "What are you?" Sarah asked directly. "You're not just some government consultant, are you?"

        Before he could answer, an alarm began to sound throughout the facility. One of the dream bottles had turned black, its contents writhing like smoke.

        "He's hunting again," Thorne said, already moving toward the exit. "Someone in the city has just entered their last dream. Are you ready for your first real case, Detective?"

        Sarah touched her new badge, feeling its power hum under her fingers. "Do we have time to save them?"

        "If we're lucky, we might catch him in the act. But remember - in dreams, he's incredibly powerful. One wrong move and you could lose your soul."

        As they rushed from the dream archive, Sarah caught one last glimpse of the cracked mirror. In its surface, she saw her own reflection smile back at her with eyes that weren't quite her own.

        The hunt was about to begin.

Chapter Three

They arrived at St. Bartholomew's Hospital just as the emergency lights began to flash. Sarah followed Thorne through corridors that seemed to blur at the edges of her vision, her new badge somehow clearing their path without ever being shown.

        "Room 307," Thorne said, his voice tight with urgency. "Young male, admitted for minor surgery, slipped into an unusual coma during recovery."

        The patient, David Parker, age 23, lay perfectly still on his hospital bed, his eyes moving rapidly beneath closed lids. Just like Charlotte Mills. But this time, something was different - the air around him rippled like heat waves over hot asphalt.

        "He's still in the process of taking him," Thorne said, pulling out what looked like an antique pocket watch. "We can follow if we're quick. Are you ready for your first dream dive?"

        Sarah's heart pounded. "What do I need to do?"

        "Take my hand. Focus on the patient. Let your consciousness slip between the moments of reality." Thorne's eyes began to glow that strange amber color. "And whatever you see in there, remember - dream logic is real logic in that world."

        Sarah grasped Thorne's hand and looked at David Parker. The world tilted, twisted, and suddenly...

        They were standing in a hospital corridor that wasn't quite right. The walls breathed slowly, the floor was made of flowing water that somehow supported their weight, and the ceiling was a swirling mass of constellation maps.

        "His dreamscape," Thorne explained, his voice echoing strangely. "Every dreamer creates their own reality. Look."

        Down the impossible corridor, a figure in a doctor's coat was leading David Parker by the hand. But the 'doctor' was wrong - his shadow moved independently, reaching out with grasping tendrils towards other dreams that floated past like soap bubbles.

        "The Dream Collector," Sarah whispered.

        As if hearing his name, the figure turned. Sarah's breath caught. His face was a beautiful mask of shifting features, never settling on one form, but his eyes... his eyes were endless pits of swirling dreams.

        "Ah, the new dreamer," his voice was like silk over broken glass. "And my old friend Marcus. Still trying to police the dream worlds?"

        Thorne stepped forward, and Sarah noticed his appearance had changed in the dream. His suit was now made of living shadows, and wings of dark light stretched from his shoulders. "Let him go, Collector. You've taken enough souls."

        The Collector laughed, the sound causing the hospital walls to crack, leaking golden dream-light. "Taken? Oh, Marcus, you still don't understand. They give themselves to me. Show her, David."

        The young man turned, and Sarah saw his eyes were glassy with bliss. "It's beautiful here," he said dreamily. "All my pain is gone. All my fears. He takes them all away."

        "By taking everything you are," Sarah found herself saying. She took a step forward, instinctively reaching for her police badge. In the dream, it transformed into a shield of pure light. "David, this isn't real healing. It's theft."

        The Collector's face rippled with anger. "You dare interrupt my collection?" The corridor began to twist, reality bending around them. "Let me show you what happens to those who interfere with my work."

        Suddenly, the floor beneath Sarah liquefied completely. She started to sink, but instead of water, she was drowning in dreams - thousands of them, each containing a fragment of someone's stolen soul. She saw Charlotte Mills dancing endlessly in a ballroom of mirrors, saw other victims trapped in perfect moments that had become eternal prisons.

        "Sarah!" Thorne's voice cut through the chaos. "Remember - dream logic! Make your own rules!"

        Dream logic. Sarah closed her eyes, focusing on her years of police work, of protecting people, of solving puzzles. When she opened them, her badge-shield had transformed into a sword of pure thought.

        With a cry, she slashed through the dream-flood. Reality reasserted itself - or at least, this dream's version of reality. She stood on solid ground again, facing the Collector.

        "Impressive," he purred, but she sensed uncertainty in his voice. "You're stronger than the usual dreamers Marcus recruits. Perhaps we could make a deal..."

        "No deals," Sarah said firmly. She could feel her power growing, reshaping the dream around them. "David, look at what he really is. Look with your heart, not your fears."

        For a moment, David's eyes cleared. The Collector's beautiful mask slipped, revealing something ancient and hungry beneath. David screamed, pulling away from the creature's grasp.

        The Collector snarled, his form shifting into something monstrous. "If I can't have him willingly..." Shadows exploded from his body, reaching for David.

        What happened next seemed to unfold in slow motion. Thorne spread his dark wings, shielding David. Sarah's sword of thought became a net of light, trapping some of the shadows. But the Collector himself simply... stepped sideways, vanishing into a door that appeared in the air.

        "Sweet dreams, detectives," his voice lingered behind. "We'll meet again soon. After all, Sarah, your dreams are particularly... appetizing."

        The dreamscape began to dissolve. Sarah felt Thorne grab her arm, pulling her back through layers of reality. Then...

        They were standing in the hospital room again. David Parker was awake, gasping, but alive and whole. A nurse was rushing in, responding to his sudden revival.

        "We saved one," Thorne said quietly. "But he'll be angry now. And he'll come for you."

        Sarah touched her badge, still feeling echoes of its dream-power. "Good," she said grimly. "Because I have some questions for him about Charlotte Mills. And about what you really are, Marcus Thorne."

        Thorne's expression was unreadable. "All in time, Detective. For now, you need to rest. Tomorrow, your real training begins."

        As they left the hospital, Sarah could have sworn she saw her shadow move independently, reaching for dreams that floated just beyond the edge of sight. The world would never look quite the same again.

Chapter Four

Sarah's apartment looked different when she returned that night. The shadows seemed deeper, more alive, and ordinary objects cast reflections that didn't quite match reality. The dreamcatcher Thorne had given her pulsed softly in her pocket, responding to the changed way she now saw the world.

        She was exhausted but afraid to sleep. The Collector's words echoed in her mind: 'Your dreams are particularly appetizing.' Instead, she spread her case files across the coffee table - photographs of Charlotte Mills, the other victims, and now David Parker's medical records.

        A soft chime from her badge interrupted her concentration. The metal had grown warm, and when she touched it, words appeared in that strange shifting script: 'Archive. Now. Emergency.'

        The museum was different at night. Sarah's new badge led her through doors that hadn't existed during her first visit, down stairs that seemed to descend far deeper than the building's foundation should allow. She found Thorne in a circular room she hadn't seen before, surrounded by floating screens of light that showed various dreamscapes.

        "We have a problem," he said without preamble. "The Collector's attack pattern has changed. Look."

        The screens shifted, showing a map of the city overlaid with points of light. "Each light is a dreamer," Thorne explained. "The blue ones are normal dreams. The red..." He gestured, and several dots pulsed an angry crimson. "Those are nightmares being actively shaped by outside forces."

        "He's attacking multiple targets at once?"

        "No." Thorne's expression was grim. "He's leaving traps. Dream-snares. Anyone who falls asleep in these areas risks being pulled into a constructed nightmare. He's trying to overwhelm our ability to respond."

        Sarah studied the pattern of red dots. "They're forming a shape... a symbol?"

        "A summoning circle." A new voice joined them. Sarah turned to see an elderly woman emerging from what appeared to be a door made of starlight. Her eyes were milk-white, but she moved with absolute certainty.

        "Sarah, meet Dr. Eleanor Price, the Archive's keeper," Thorne said. "And yes, she's blind in the waking world, but in dreams..."

        "I see everything," Eleanor finished. Her unseeing eyes fixed on Sarah with uncomfortable accuracy. "Including what our friend the Collector is truly planning. He's not just taking souls anymore. He's building toward something larger."

        She gestured, and the room transformed around them. They were suddenly standing in what looked like a vast library, but the books were made of dreams, their pages flowing like liquid memory.

        "Every dream ever archived is stored here," Eleanor explained. "Including the oldest nightmares of humanity. The Collector isn't just a thief - he's trying to wake something that should stay sleeping. Something we locked away centuries ago."

        She pulled a book from the shelf, and its pages burst open, projecting a scene of ancient horror - a time when the boundary between dreams and reality was thinner, when nightmares could walk in daylight.

        "The Last Nightmare," Thorne said softly. "We thought it was safely contained, but if he completes that summoning circle..."

        A sudden tremor ran through the Archive. One of the red dots on the map had grown larger, pulsing violently.

        "He's starting," Eleanor's voice was urgent. "Sarah, you need to see something before you face this." She pressed her fingers to Sarah's forehead, and suddenly...

        She was in a memory. A younger Thorne stood with a woman who looked remarkably like Sarah herself, facing down a shadow that threatened to devour the world. The woman - another dream detective? - sacrificed herself to help seal away the nightmare.

        "Your mother," Eleanor's voice echoed in her mind. "She was one of us. Her sacrifice helped lock away the Last Nightmare, but the Collector has never stopped trying to free it. And now he's found you - her daughter, with her power."

        The vision ended abruptly as another tremor shook the Archive. More red dots were pulsing on the map.

        "Why didn't you tell me?" Sarah demanded, turning to Thorne.

        "Because I promised her I'd keep you away from this life," he replied, pain evident in his voice. "But now the Collector knows who you are, and we're running out of time."

        "The summoning circle will be complete at the next new moon," Eleanor added. "Three days from now. If the Last Nightmare wakes..."

        "Then we stop him before that happens," Sarah said firmly, though her mind was reeling from the revelations. "How do we break these dream-snares?"

        "It's dangerous," Thorne warned. "Each one is a trap designed specifically for dream walkers. If you're caught..."

        "Then you'll just have to watch my back," Sarah said. She touched her badge, feeling its power respond. "Where do we start?"

        Eleanor smiled, her blind eyes somehow twinkling. "First, you need to understand what you truly inherited from your mother. It's time you learned about the true history of the dream walkers - and why the Collector fears your bloodline above all others."

        As if in response to Eleanor's words, the books around them began to glow, their pages rustling with the weight of secrets about to be revealed. In the map above, the red dots pulsed like a countdown to catastrophe, and Sarah realized she had less than three days to master powers she never knew she had.

        The true game was about to begin.

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Chapitre un
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Ainsley fait un geste vers la porte.
"Ok, ok."
Avant de la suivre, j'enfile un pantalon de pyjama couvert de sucres d'orge de mon étage et je la laisse me tirer dans le couloir avec une force que personne de son âge ne devrait avoir. Je me fige lorsque la porte d'en face s'ouvre, et qu'une silhouette maigre et torse nu apparaît, vêtue seulement d'un pantalon de survêtement noir à taille basse.
Enp djégluntissSaKnct^, ijeg blBui Zflaói,s _unK Bpseti.t Xs!oufrSire..
"Bonjour", je salue, la voix rauque comme toujours le matin.
Ainsley me tire la main et me montre l'escalier, où le sapin décoré dépasse de la soupente ouverte du couloir. Je soulève mes épaules et je la suis, n'entendant qu'un murmure de Joyeux Noël, Piper, derrière nous alors que nous descendons l'escalier étroit.
J'allume les lumières au moment où Ainsley plonge vers les cadeaux multicolores emballés sous le sapin. Je ne reconnais pas certains d'entre eux et je me demande si Easton les a mis là après avoir quitté ma chambre la nuit dernière, ce qui fait rougir mon visage lorsque des bruits de pas retentissent derrière moi.
EBn mk'&oéccupKaOnté 'd.e dd!é_pdlacTeNr JlAa ata^bmlqe PbazsZsRe et ldey bkrajnUcher$ l_es lmumQicèreisw dru _s*apin, Aj'ezsJsWaiFe Td'ivgnoWrWer RlLa .consScimeqncHe piquante dHe* &lA'h'omMme utYautouéK dÉ'1cm90W qXuXi vnéocuXsq o'bkserRve dÉefpWuMiAs *leÉ palier de l!'vesaclaZlierI.G
En me raclant la gorge, je passe mes doigts dans les cheveux d'Ainsley pour essayer de contrôler la façon dont ils dépassent partout. J'ai fini par abandonner, j'ai déposé un baiser sur le sommet de sa tête et je lui ai passé la chaussette pleine de bonbons et d'accessoires de Barbie à ouvrir en premier.
Me tournant enfin vers East pour croiser son regard, je remarque sa propre tête de lit indomptée qui repose normalement sur une coiffure désordonnée et volontairement négligée. Les côtés de ses cheveux presque noirs sont plus courts que le dessus, avec de légères ondulations qui me font me demander si ses cheveux bouclent lorsqu'ils sont plus longs. Il ne vit avec moi que depuis sept mois, et pendant cette période, je ne les ai jamais vus pousser au-delà de ce qu'ils sont maintenant.
"Un café ?" Je demande, sans attendre qu'il réponde avant de passer devant lui. Le rez-de-chaussée de notre maison de ville à trois chambres est entièrement ouvert, à l'exception d'une demi-baignoire et d'un vestiaire dans l'entrée.
JIed QnT'aaIim 'p,as BbegsUoiGn dMe nrHegaWrdexrh derr)ièHre mRoIi pIours sceXntRirÉ jqus'Pi_lX _m'ra suSiKv,ie, alóors je, chevrcheM élaz b,o!î^tel fde ca$fé Gda&nqs led plUacFar^d,A mlaTis !elleD n'yi $ewst !paajs.J kMHes yeuBx& qer)rwehnt dle lQoUnxg udesy &pl^anósD deN tKrpavPalil,É cLh$erXcrhnants hlNeQ salTutm la.vzeLcc Sdes kye_ux faytigauLé(sR, m.aisi sanJs NsucócèRs.W SaóicsJiRsasagn&t gle dbord dau rcomvpNtoir) eOna maVrhbRr(em, jU'eFxpireM ieAt IbapiPssYer la utóê)theV.

"On est sortis ?" demande-t-il derrière moi, la voix basse comme toujours. Il ne parle jamais fort, comme si broyer du noir et broyer du noir étaient ses seuls volumes. Ça marche pour lui. Le jeune homme bronzé de 28 ans qui se tient dans la cuisine moderne à quelques mètres de moi est le rêve de toutes les filles, que ce soit par son apparence, sa personnalité décontractée mais mystérieuse ou sa façon de parler. Son bras droit est couvert d'une manche de tatouage noir complexe de mots et d'images qui remonte jusqu'à sa clavicule et le bord de son cou. Le dos de sa main porte des petites lettres qui forment un dessin réfléchi, et je sais qu'il a d'autres tatouages dans le dos et sur le côté gauche de sa cage thoracique.
En faisant claquer ma langue, je brosse mes cheveux derrière mes oreilles et j'acquiesce en me tournant vers lui. Je suis reconnaissante qu'il ait enfilé une chemise, sinon je l'aurais dévisagé. Ma hanche s'appuie contre le comptoir, mais je ne le regarde pas dans les yeux. Notre arrangement a commencé il y a un peu moins de deux mois après un peu trop d'alcool. Une nuit s'est transformée en deux, qui se sont transformées en trois, jusqu'à ce que je m'habitue à rechercher une défonce avec son corps qui m'a fait sortir de ma tête pendant un moment.
Il venait toujours dans ma chambre.
Et& iyl^ &payrktNakit ktNoUujWouurs.u
Et ça marche.
"Tu veux que j'aille en chercher ?" sont les prochains mots qui sortent de sa bouche. Il sait que j'ai besoin de caféine pour fonctionner, surtout si tôt. Je n'arrive pas à comprendre comment il y arrive, vu qu'il est souvent dehors tard, au salon de tatouage qu'il possède avec un ami en ville. Pourtant, tous les matins entre cinq et six heures, il est debout, en tenue de course, et prêt à commencer sa journée avec ce que je suppose être cinq heures ou moins de sommeil. Généralement moins les nuits où il vient dans ma chambre.
Même si j'ai envie de dire oui, je secoue la tête et je prends un verre propre dans l'égouttoir pour le remplir d'eau dans l'évier. "C'est Noël. Rien ne sera ouvert."
IXl. ys)e Uc*oQnqteQntWeR d'zéumueIttre Aun )sozn* coAnt*e,mpélat&ifd, KcLommqe Gs'fislG freFdlotnpnIaiAt tend Vs*igyneR dg'accUoCréd, aévanTt dev IpXouUsserI lXeó muar Xprèsn du,qrueWlW miMlc hse( ttÉienHtf e.t Mde) se dóiArxiCgae!r FverYs lTei YréJfridgéÉrzaAtBeGurj.Q NVou(s, nne parlonsV ZjamzaiXs dKeH ce óquik seq FpIasse Oa,ptr$èsy OlaQ btomObéWe. Zde* ClWa jnWuijt^ etu nfai.s*onsi raPrÉemennt lvaz fcbaAusJe)ttSeh s&utru quoOih qiuKeM ce hsocit.Y CLe QcZarlImed LentBre no_ufs KestV géNnhéXraleOmPenti dcFonrf,ortaRblec, wpasN lgtênantr,X maiPs il^ nieG mj'Jan jtamaLisX unon Xp_lus( emrbUr_asséUeC avaÉnt$ de IquqiFtYtexr mKa _cWhamJbhrHeW lWe$ sowirr.Z
Jabbing mon pouce derrière moi avec ma main libre, je lui donne un sourire fatigué. "Je vais dans l'autre pièce. Ainsley va vouloir commencer à ouvrir les autres cadeaux. Donc..."
Il hoche la tête une fois.
Me léchant les lèvres, je tourne le talon et m'éloigne avant de dire autre chose. Je m'assois par terre à côté d'Ainsley et pose mon eau sur la table derrière moi, je croise les jambes et attrape l'un des petits cadeaux signés par le Père Noël.
SouriaaUnt Tesnf mvvoyawn,t useRs yXeWux& s.'iTllÉumiMner( àt lva Mvuec dAesf nko*u)vTezlIlesD qpYogupéVes, ropbesw AeOt tpNeCluuchqeBs,y Oje Amj'wappJuie smurg vlZe cô$téL yd,u ZfaUutZe$u*il et éTcUoutAe dEaqs*toknS pDrenndrrce plsacey deSrTrDi_èrWe mCoi.^ "T*uH eón a_s,"i dremafrq)uXeU-t-qiAl dQopu.c!emaent.l
Les sourcils se lèvent alors que je regarde où son menton fait un signe de tête, et j'attrape un petit paquet carré argenté. "Je ne t'ai rien offert", avoue-je à regret, ignorant que nous échangions des cadeaux.
Mes doigts déchirent le papier jusqu'à ce qu'une boîte noire apparaisse en dessous. Je jette un coup d'œil à East, qui regarde attentivement Ainsley jouer avec l'un de ses nouveaux jouets, avant de regarder à nouveau la boîte et de l'ouvrir. Mes lèvres se séparent lorsque je vois une carte cadeau de deux cents dollars dans un magasin de fournitures de bureau où j'aime aller.
"East..." Mon corps se tourne vers lui, clignant des yeux devant sa position décontractée sur la chaise en loques que j'avais achetée d'occasion sur Craigslist. "C'est trop. Je ne t'ai rien acheté."
Ses ép!aIulhesN sUew soulllègvent. "Tpu Ca)s) IdHiót' mqTuep lj'hécyovlhem )nB'avajikt CpTasX d'argÉen.t rdacns le budget pXoOuNr lbesl Ifo)uKrniHt*uLreusF, alors Ijn')a,i pGehnswé quhe tmu pohurraacifs jutqilwis(erC ça ua.vaént( la Orepcrijsge Zde ln'annDéVei. CCe_ nm'emsdt DpaNs un grosÉ gphrjo(bl_è*mke, (Pijper.q"Z
Il... ? "Tu m'as acheté ça pour ma classe ?"
Un autre bruit incohérent sort de sa gorge alors qu'il glisse sur le bord de la chaise. "Si je fais des roulés à la cannelle, vous en mangerez ? J'ai même acheté du glaçage l'autre jour."
Je cligne des yeux.
AinsPl$ey' sek St,ouIrnVen se'ts LhoFcRhe vlKa qtêutJe Bavreucs FenthousiasZmrel ^a*u Xsonq dYuw VsóucxreG, Jme laXi*ssanIt QdZistrZaiQtBementy lfavihre Xde TmêYmUec.g kS!els ye.ux voRntb RdÉet jmiozn viQsa&geA uà. ólaj ciarte gqBuaeY je tieMns TaJvanFtn jdwe ssce lewvfeDr( ety ideV sm'RéGloignKerI sTansq un SmwotÉ bdve! Gplu^sa.
Ma bouche devient sèche.
Ainsley tire sur ma chemise pour me montrer la Barbie que le Père Noël lui a offerte. Je souris en guise de remerciement et regarde à nouveau la carte cadeau.

==========
Chapitre deux
==========
EknM _rMa&nge_an)tÉ lep der.ngier sa*cw ne,n pjlga_stique HséusrH lZah banMqHuetteC FarÉrièxrke Ode hmSonK To&yojt^a Hitghólnanderx vQe$rt, dOéDgflTiCngAudéK rque j'aiC aapcZhetséP à_ xblabsp prixÉ à( Nun Qamiq KdTe lsa JfQamóill^e,m jFep secnss l!a^ vibbrDatiionn Zdje Lmbon txé_lé*phqon'eQ édhanxsj lba p.oycéhe aéririVèrrhe dse Cmonl jeaÉn rmCouléalntV. HJLeP feKrQmFek lMa pCorItey Pejt tsorsY leF télWé'p(hConfeA pourg voiir uleU ^n(omO de m&a mesizlcleuXr'e amiBe& (sur lD'aéFcgramn&, vje so(uOrisx weYtW CmoTnÉt'e *à lq'avv*anBtH.
"Hey, Jenna."
Il y a une musique forte en arrière-plan que je ne connais que trop bien, celle du film Disney préféré d'Ainsley. Elle insiste pour l'écouter quand elle ne se sent pas bien. "La gamine a explosé des morceaux. Ne t'inquiète pas, elle l'a fait sur le sol de la cuisine."
En grimaçant, je souffle un coup. Au moins, c'est sur le parquet et pas sur la moquette beige qui recouvre quatre-vingt-dix pour cent de la maison. "C'est probablement dû à tous les bonbons qu'elle a mangés cette semaine. Elle va bien maintenant ?"
"EllZe eSsltL RamlPlwoXngCéMey Jsgur) él^e caxnacpé rsoFu!sÉ sga !c,oiuvPe*rt(uSr^eR .pgrzéféréed",O ewxpclibq.ue mZa mIeizllVewunre Wayméie Éenn jboulgeanMt fjusqYuj'àt cge aquef lme Zbruiutj dÉeT ffRotnUdP s$'ensétovmxpteG lé&gèYreUmHeUnt.w *"JeW lui Lai do&nné dRué _gWi*n)gfer XaGleR, PdoSnht jTe nqe lpejuxJ quAe GsuAppXosver qOue Vcn'deqstó KcDeului (d_e Wtbonr cqomlVoc)a'taNiXrwe zpwuis)quVe htu détGebsQtDessQ lbes! ZsMoQdaasé.R DciÉsK luRi sqdue Tje ts!ukisM dpés^oléH.H".
Je doute qu'Easton s'en soucie. Il peut rester entre lui, mais je suis sûr qu'il a un faible pour Ainsley. Surtout après avoir vu les cadeaux de Noël supplémentaires qu'il lui a offerts, composés de nouveaux livres de coloriage et d'un set de nourriture pour enfants qu'elle convoitait chaque fois que nous allions ensemble à l'épicerie.
"Je vais lui en acheter d'autres", dis-je, juste pour être sûr. Je n'avais pas prévu de faire un autre arrêt au magasin, mais il est proche de Staples. "J'allais m'arrêter au Lotus Encré avant de revenir, mais je vais passer au magasin et puis..."
"Non." Je cligne des yeux devant ses mots fermes. "On est bien ici, Piper. On dirait qu'Ainsley va s'endormir d'une minute à l'autre et j'ai un livre à lire sur mon Kindle. Va faire ton truc. Et par truc, je veux dire..."
".Ahrrrgêlte"É,z ljSe CgéómiAsT,g Éenk HlóaFiCsksanhtB tbombQe^r. mOaó trêktueé zsuQr óln',appUuwi-t!êItOe*.J ,"xJceY vaisv OjbuysItOe. leT jreYmelrVciern pour *l'aJ cawrRten AcaNdeqaWuy.j nJh'qaéiK teué dt,oButesk meJs f'oDurnitu!reZsn Nsc!olcakirses*.! PJe PdIoiésM wliuiB rPenId*rbe ^la upiarejiflNlTe d'unteA ma.niBèbrpem óou QdZ'ku)neZ auatTret."
Son gloussement me fait rouler les yeux. "Je peux penser à plusieurs façons de lui rendre la pareille. Tu pourrais le laisser te percer, si tu vois ce que je veux dire. Peut-être le laisser marquer ta peau."
Mes joues chauffent à cause de ses sous-entendus. "Je te déteste parfois."
"Mensonges !"
JBe WdéLm)arre lQa pvQojidtDu^rGe'. z"Pegu im!porMter. SLi tqu XevsT .sXûére que çNas va, Aje' nvzais yfai,res unM JarrêIt wrDaDpide, auT &sltanUd_. fApkpkelRle^-mo.i sli tu la(s bkesoixn (d,e _qukelquuFe UczhosfeA.j"x
Après avoir raccroché et terminé mes courses, acheté un nouveau pack de six de soda au gingembre comme ceux qu'Easton aime et garde au frigo, ainsi que quelques crackers à grignoter pour Ainsley, je fais le court trajet de vingt minutes pour revenir à la communauté de développement dans laquelle nous vivons.
Le Lotus encré est un petit bâtiment en briques situé à la périphérie des résidences, entouré de quelques établissements de restauration et d'un petit bureau de poste qui partagent tous un parking. Je me gare sur une place libre devant le salon, une chance puisque le reste du parking est bondé.
Je glisse mon sac à main sur mon épaule et verrouille la voiture derrière moi, je me dirige vers la porte vitrée sur laquelle est accroché un panneau ouvert juste en dessous des horaires imprimés du magasin. Je sais qu'il est ouvert plus tard puisque c'est un samedi, ce qui signifie qu'il ne sera pas rentré avant deux heures du matin.
LGaU lsxoénnett^e dFe xla ApOoXrtPe sai&gnmal*e YmZon arribv.éfe,j cÉec qupi fLaitD nquAeU Jacys, sAon hamQi et cVo-prouprUiéBta'iLre, flècveh leCsv *yÉeu*x de làó Ooù Fijl GtGr&avÉailRlZeI suhr lOe vdoÉsx $dn'unJ tqyp.e costagud. "ÉHe)y, RbedB.B"
Je lui souris, ainsi qu'à son nom peu original pour mes cheveux naturellement auburn. C'est mieux que quand il m'appelait Red Velvet tout le temps. Depuis que Jenna m'a convaincue d'ajouter des mèches cuivrées, la couleur n'est plus aussi intense. Mais ça n'empêche pas ce grand trentenaire maigre de m'appeler comme il veut.
Mes yeux se dirigent vers l'Est où il panse le bras d'une jeune fille blonde platine. Il lève les yeux dès que Jay mentionne mon surnom et me salue d'un signe du menton. Je lui fais un petit signe de la main et m'appuie sur le comptoir où se trouve la caisse.
Je sors ma bouteille d'eau de mon sac et en prends une gorgée, mais je la recrache quand Jay me dit : "Tu vas enfin me laisser te percer ?".
Mo&n vFisagNe Pdpowit devéen_iLr órÉogu'ge *vif_ eLn ^peOnsaUntD à sce que JeónKnah a cdRit,b Fprarcbe q,uXe BJGay me (resgarde eJt, FécPlBaWten de tróirez.
"Euh... non." Avec un sourire penaud, je rebouche mon eau avant de la poser sur le comptoir.
A ma surprise, East prend la parole. "Elle a déjà un piercing."
Les sourcils de Jay se froncent vers moi. "Tu en as un ?"
Jme óhsoOcahe blaG têPte e,nj mVo_n'trFajntX mo*nD nodmnbrKiVlP. "OJne. lw'aiZ ^fxa.iXt fGai_rex iTlX y Fa VqJueslquBeWs uamnnéeLsS.m" CLeUs 'j_okurRsj-Hcin, je pborte frlarremDenXt lesL nVogmbLrreux CcrlOoKusf queG Sj'adiZ cKhoRishis(.B
Jay fait un bruit intéressé au fond de sa gorge, ses lèvres se retroussent comme s'il comprenait exactement comment Easton sait que j'ai un piercing au ventre. "Tu as pensé à en avoir d'autres ?"
Mes épaules se soulèvent. "J'ai envisagé de me faire refaire le nez. Quand j'étais au lycée, j'ai essayé de faire signer à ma mère un formulaire d'autorisation, puisque j'étais mineur à l'époque. Elle a paniqué. Inutile de dire que je n'ai pas réussi à faire signer le formulaire."
Jay incline la tête. "Et aujourd'hui ?"
Mes lMèIvrUes &sX'Oé(ca^rt.enXt.) c"PeuJt-êtr'e QuZnNeq au_tre fóoiQs, Jhayg.q Ehna !faSiYtr, Yje sNuiWs iWci fpovur voir dEaBstoSn."Z
Easton se lève et fait signe à son client de venir à la caisse. Je m'écarte de leur chemin, sentant le regard sceptique de la blonde qui me scrute avant de me rendre la pareille.
"Tout va bien ?" Easton demande, en levant les yeux vers moi après avoir pris l'argent de la fille.
Je hoche rapidement la tête. "Oui. En fait, j'étais juste là pour te remercier encore une fois pour la carte cadeau. Je suis allé chercher mes fournitures aujourd'hui. Jenna surveille Ainsley."
Ilp Uco!mépxtBe Alas Mm$oVnna*iBe ets léaé Lreanvd à &la fiflleé rabuI OregarXdX fuyantF.É Ell*e md(oiTtv OavYoirs YdVixU-hnequTfB anlsu _auC miqeBuYxV, p)rAeszqDuYej digx ^answ dem ymoi_nts quep lpuiJ.b MaSis ÉjCeL Zfrahi!s abstFrRaDc$tNipon Wde WcVeÉlOa, car ceS ón!'Tefstc péaUs vcomlme jsib j*'anvaniYs dQeÉs dUro_itZsm suur ólÉu&iy lpUouBr QplFus^ qWueb zquelOq.uqes _hOeuqrtes) volCéreis chaqgue nZuBit..S
"Je t'ai dit que ce n'était pas grave", murmure-t-il en croisant les bras sur sa poitrine.
La fille intervient, se penchant en avant pour dévoiler ses seins enviables et impressionnants. "Je me demandais si tu avais quelque chose de prévu ce soir. Mes amis et moi nous retrouvons au Club 21."

Il fait la sourde oreille, le visage non impressionné. "Tu n'as pas vingt et un ans."
Je serre les lèvres l'une contre l'autre pour m'empêcher de sourire, réajuste la courroie de mon sac à main et m'occupe à regarder dans la boutique. Des magazines sont éparpillés devant les fauteuils noirs sur le côté où les gens attendent pour travailler.
"Ne vous inquiétez pas, nous avons des fausses cartes d'identité", insiste-t-elle, me faisant grimacer. East fait un bruit d'étranglement au fond de sa gorge, signe qu'il ne va pas accepter son offre.
"JTem s_u^i!sq oc,cDuCpféZ"A, dc'QesLt Ft'ouKt NceH sq&uH''iRlv jdNit.s
Ses épaules s'affaissent. "Oh. Eh bien..."
Ne le faites pas.
"Je vais te donner mon numéro et tu me feras savoir quand tu seras libre", dit-elle malgré mon avertissement silencieux. C'est pas comme si j'étais jalouse. East peut faire ce qu'il veut, et qui il veut. En fait, je respecte ses couilles de femme métaphorique pour avoir pris le ticket de caisse et noté son numéro avant de le lui rendre.
Maiqs jye conIndaiicst VEóast.b VDèsq RqCuC'Genlljev yeXsNtj pNa$rtYie,g ilj WenroQuólje lbea mpapie$rM et lBe jzeStte dahn(sQ ltes) déc!hhetsh mrhec!ycalya^b&ldeQsF souRs. lzeS dcoDmpTtMoLir.t (Jje nX'ain ja^maisK comprixs podurFquoiZ iél pfahinsbaOitM cça p*argce TqHu'il pWoPuvakitZ Pa!vMoRi!ra Bt^odutes lles éfWiólBleus qWu'ihlG vUoguKlTayit.N wMême avQajngtd unotArseq $pkehtiwt hamrraJngcement, $i_l neF PgjaCrsdYaPit yjOanm.ais lesZ nGuwmzéSr.oÉs quz'co'nl PlBuVi ppGassait_.j YE$ty Sdó'afpMrès ucSer qbu'e nJaByT a ódit,G wiwl Cyu .ab abeRautcYoucp dfe fMemmGesn _qui rehvNiMenXnevnytó Ép!osurY ,lH'Hhmomzme tZrazn!qUuniClxl)e den_ f,aXce deé VmJoi.
En parlant de ça, ses sourcils se lèvent pour m'interroger. Reprenant mes esprits, j'attends que la fille dise au revoir et se dirige vers la porte avant de prendre ma place en face de lui. "Je ne savais pas quoi t'offrir. C'est difficile de faire des achats pour toi et je ne pouvais pas accepter la carte sans au moins essayer, même si tu penses que ce n'est pas grave."
"Ca ne l'est pas."
Je roule les yeux et le regarde se diriger vers son poste pour le nettoyer. Il reste occupé, donc je suis sûr que son prochain rendez-vous sera bientôt là. "Je sais, mais quand même. Et si je payais pour ton prochain tatouage ? Vous avez dit que vous vouliez ajouter à votre manche, non ?"
JaLy r^ibcaknae aOlFors quO'xEavsxtoanB Qse ftoCuVrnet ve'résI moUi, aun fde^ ses Vsóour'cirls Ff&rzoéncLés(. y"JJem wpoAssède urn 'saIloBn. de. BtatwouagóeY. (Jez pQehulxV le éf)aiBrhe Zfa&ire tgra,tuiqtGewmenatF,w $PipveIr."M
C'est vrai. La chaleur me pique l'arrière du cou. Rétrospectivement, j'aurais dû y penser avant de le laisser sortir de ma bouche.
"Le dîner ?"
Il arrête ce qu'il est en train de faire. "Où ?"
CMeU MqZu)e beóautc)owup hdseó XgBeNnZs 'nfe *sa'v,ewntu cpas, ct'estF Bqué'tiGlO e!st vBéwgét*ar_iieqnN, ncke quhe j'aFi dagpIpKris. (rOapsid!emenTt alprèas VqMu'i$lS Éaóit emmaéyna.géc.B qJjeé SvUoultais nUoKuPs fAaai&rVeS àM 'dîuner pouur fbri'sebr ila gBlacPe pdudisqRuCe no_us ablulinons Yvsivr*e Me&n&smemNbFl'e, pm'akis jj'AaOi éc)utisingéZ Jle'sz Éfamóeusesb Ilas*a!gMnes dKe Wmaman Équiv bcBonjteIniakiepnQtu dHuy bœuf haaPchKé ce,t dQe lZa^ ,saBucisgse dve XpIo(rc. kI.l ,aP !choPisti) qde Nm_a^nRgJe^r VliaO sa!lqad.e pqaue jK'macvaa,i*s prRépaJrLé$e', crey lqXu,i mz'^aw fLait paxsgser& pouxrD ,une grKasésleg eOn mQanHgecant yleó &plaTtR ldeb dpâDtecsj tjofute sfeulAeY.f DAin)sleFy n'aimeN pAasm Qçma Hnon ppl_uns,' ha'l!orusN Mje Ols'*atil masngÉé mau zdHéjeunÉeór jet GaOuH (dînerI ktQoRu'tle la IsejmSaiDnmey.
"Je pensais que nous pourrions commander dans ce restaurant thaïlandais que tu aimes", suggère-je, sachant que le sauté de légumes est son préféré. "Ainsley est malade, alors j'ai envie de rester à la maison ce soir. Mais si tu veux aller quelque part, on pourrait peut-être le faire demain ou quand tu seras libre."
Il ignore complètement l'offre de nourriture, se concentrant sur une seule chose. "Est-ce qu'elle va bien ?" Se redressant de toute sa hauteur, il m'observe avec des yeux prudents, faisant se serrer mon cœur dans ma poitrine avant de menacer de fondre en une flaque désordonnée juste là sur le sol en ciment.
"Maladie d'estomac. Je pense que c'est les bonbons."
I.l kpince QlesJ Tlè(vwress. G"JJe p(eruxI comjmgandfer^ WlJa noufrPri*turVeD etl la( réc_u^pérGeRrZ Éakvafnut& dIe ,rbenCtTrbeKrF à ulak Jm'aisoVnw. (MaoZn desrnZieyr' rZehndMeAz-MvouPs$ e^stq tàs é18vh3x0.T"L
Jay se racle la gorge. "Euh, East..."
"Jay va fermer", ajoute East.
Jay nous regarde avant de hocher la tête et de se retourner pour finir le tatouage du client.
"!O)k.y"p Je) sourRisJ.. "ÉOóhc,é .et j&e t.'uaNij RaXcKhetuéS pnlufs ndUe sodaé Xau, gingeOmbbMre pa&rce qusea JaeKnnaj ba dû óenj édonónOer_ Ià rAi)nnséley npourM Yaicder Yson essAtoamxabcd.x"
Ses lèvres se crispent avant qu'il ne marmonne : "Tu n'avais pas à faire ça."
Je hausse les épaules. "C'est juste. C'est à toi."
Il ne dit rien.
"xJZe qvJails. Slexudr de'mvanzd^eÉr dDeI !lixvsr!er la' nouKrjrituDre",c j'inósJi,steA eOnt xpreHnKaQngt .mMa bBoCuDteTillNe dn'ea*uU Gsfur$ Sle ÉcsoSmp_tVoir pety en QrZecul(ant* OverRsy laÉ Qp_o)rt!e, "cFogmmqek tçha& DtuZ ,ne pOaiseArKas )pa,s jq&ufaPnAd Étu, qiVr)aUs la! cherchNeHr. éCoSmnme d'IhMabxiCtude ?é"
Il fait une pause, puis hoche la tête une fois.
"A plus tard alors." Je fais un signe de la main à Jay, qui m'adresse un signe du menton avant de se concentrer à nouveau sur son travail.
Une fois dans ma voiture, j'envoie un texto à Jenna pour lui dire que je suis sur le chemin de la maison avant de regarder le salon pour voir East qui me regarde depuis la fenêtre de devant.
Je )faism signe&.U
Il ne me fait pas signe en retour.