I want to tell him to fuck off.
I want to tell him he’s wrong.
But I don’t.
Some very, very stupid part of me… wants him to keep pushing. It loves it.
“You don't know me,” I say instead.
“Oh, but I do,” he murmurs. “You were a good girl, weren’t you? The kind who did everything right. Got married young, played the perfect wife. But that perfect little life turned into a nightmare, didn’t it? And now you’re here, dead and restless, surrounded by men who make your pulse race in ways it never did before.”
I open my mouth, searching for something—anything—to throw back at him, but all that comes out is a pathetic, “I wasn’t perfect. I was just… trying.”
“And now you don’t have to try anymore, Skye,” he murmurs, his fingers hovering just shy of my hip, so close I can feel the phantom touch. “No rules. No expectations. We’re all bad men, and we don’t give a damn about what’s right or wrong anymore. We just do what feels good.”
His voice wraps around me, weaving its way into every crack in my armor, every unspoken thought.
“You still can’t touch me,” I remind him, my voice strained. “No matter how badly you want to.”
Nathaniel exhales slowly, his breath fanning over my cheek.
“Maybe not yet,” he concedes, eyes gleaming. “But I’ve broken plenty of impossible rules before. And I’m nothing if not determined.”
Hours later, death is hiding behind sugar and cinnamon.
Yes. That’s exactly where it is.
Across the street, we sit in the parked car, watching the Candy Maker’s shop like the world’s most subtle group of stalkers.The pastel-colored building looks almost disgustingly charming—quaint, even. Flowers spill from the window boxes, their petals trembling in the evening breeze. It’s the kind of place where you’d expect warmth and sweetness to linger in the air.
Not rot. Not death.
But I know better now.
We all do.
Cassian grips the wheel in silence, looking every bit like a brute—a brooding, road-raging man who somehow ended up with a driver’s license. Talon lounges beside him, flipping a butterfly knife between his fingers like it’s a fidget toy and not an actual weapon.
Nathaniel sits next to me, acting like our previous conversation never even happened.
“Think you could feel her up and tell us what she's doing?” he asks, completely straight-faced.
I whip my head toward him, scandalized. “Excuse me?”
“Relax. I meant with your little woo-woo soul-touching thing. Unless you want to do it the old-fashioned way, in which case, be my guest.”
Old-fashioned meaning do what I did with him—slipping inside and touching her with my warm, misty fingers.
Yeah, no. I am not feeling up some creepy old murder hag, spectral or otherwise.
“What am I, a supernatural recon drone now?” I grumble.
Nathaniel smirks. “Just saying, if you wanna be useful…”
I roll my eyes, but the truth is, I was already considering it. My abilities have been shifting in ways I don’t fully understand. I could probably extend my awareness into the shop and check exactly what the woman is up to.
The only question is—do I want to?
“She’s inside,” Cassian cuts in, his tone clipped. “Saw her go in half an hour ago.”
