“Please don’t do thi?—”
The gunshot echoes through the abandoned warehouse.
He falls flat on his face, his body twitching with the aftershocks of death.
“Happy fucking holidays,” I grunt, pocketing my gun.
CHAPTER 4
CELINE
“Who’s ready for turkey?” I say, carrying the tray into the dining room.
Mom and Dad are spending Christmas in Australia this year, but they still decorated their whole house before leaving—glitter, garlands, and enough Christmas cheer to blind a sane person.
I set the turkey down as Mom, Dad, and Julian cheer. Dad carves as I sit down, a warm glow filling my chest. The warmth dims when my thoughts slip to Damian, to the quiet library I found, to the way he smiled as if it hurt.
Then after… the way it vanished. The darkness underneath. He looked like he hated himself for being human for even one second.
“So, how’s work, Julian?” Mom asks as we tuck into our meals.
“Good, good,” Julian mutters, looking down at his plate.
Julian “works in private security,” which is the line we give our parents and the line they accept without question. They adorehim too much to imagine anything darker. But I’ve seen more than they have—the late-night disappearances, the tension in his jaw, the guilty glances. Maybe “vibes” isn’t scientific, but a sister knows.
And I never pushed. School, residency, shifts—it was always easy to pretend I didn’t see the cracks. Until Damian blew them open.
It’s just that I’ve never been brave enough to do anything about it. Plus, I’ve been busy with school and now with work.
That was before he dragged me into his world.
I push all of that away and focus on the here and now. That warm glow spreads through me when Mom starts singing me praises. “I always knew you were going to be a kick-ass nurse, Celine. I knew it ever since you were a little girl.”
I smile. “Thanks, Mom.”
If only I could stop nursing suspicion instead of patients.
“Do you hate us for disappearing for Christmas?” Mom asks, seeming genuinely concerned. “I know how much you love this holiday.”
“I want you both to enjoy yourselves,” I say, and I mean it.
Still, maybe everything with Damian feels heavier because they aren’t here. Christmas has always been a family thing—and now there’s this broody, complicated man taking up too much space in my head.
There he is, popping up in my head again.
Once we’re done eating, I pack up some leftovers, hug Mom and Dad, then walk out to my car.
“How is he?” Julian asks quietly outside, snowflakes catching on his shoulders like tiny white warnings. He looks neat again—always neat—which makes the memory of him torn and bloodied at The Crow feel even stranger.
“He’s your friend,” I say. “Ask him yourself.”
“I’ve been busy,” he replies defensively.
“With work?” I snap.
He flinches. “Yes, Celine, with work. Is there a problem with that?”
“I don’t know how he is,” I mutter. “I don’t know him.”
