Am I Skye the Angry, or am I the good bird Cassian is talking about?
…I want to be the second one. Not gonna lie.
Not that I’deversay it out loud.
Cassian casually tosses a dagger to each of the others before turning back to me, his eyes narrowing. He’s slipping back into that cold, unreadable statue mode—except something is different now.
Because something changed when he saved me. Whether he wants to admit it or not.
For me, it’s obvious in my raven’s behavior—Pain is practically vibrating with self-satisfaction, fluffing his feathers like Cassian just personally knighted him.
For Cassian? It’s that new softness in his gaze. And maybe—a little bit ofhunger.
The same hunger I saw when he was jerking himself off in front of me.
Just a little.
His eyes narrow even further. “And you,” he says, voice like a promise and a threat all at once. “We’ve got a lot to talk about.”
“First thing after we clean up,” Nathaniel chimes in from over the body.
The way he says it sends anactualchill down my spine.
“If you think we’re going easy on her, you’re wrong.” His tone is too calm. Too final. “Get your ass over here.”
And just like that, I kind of wish I hadn’t survived that damn wraith attack.
At least for, like, five minutes.
Until I remember I’m already dead, and being threatened by a very serious-looking serial killer shouldn’t bother me.
Right.
Right?
The first lesson of the night? Cleaning up a murder that doesn’t involve draining a body of blood is surprisingly low-effort—but it comes with significantly higher risks.
The second lesson? Talon has the worst timing in the entire goddamn universe.
“You were trying to trick us,” he accuses, opening the car door and jerking his chin toward the interior.
We’re not even in the safe zone yet—still parked a few streets away from the wraith’s old house, a body wrapped in multiple plastic bags slung over Cassian’s shoulder like an oversized duffel. And Talon wants to have this conversationnow?
“Get in,” Cassian barks, striding past me with his cargo, the plastic crinkling as he moves.
I exhale slowly through my nose, summoning every ounce of self-control not to let my irritation combust into a full-blown aneurysm. We’ve been walking like this for far too long—completely exposed, like a parade of absolute morons. If some nosy bastard so much as peeks out their window at the wrongmoment, the guys are fucked. Not just a little fucked—deeply, irreparably, call-your-lawyer-and-start-praying fucked.
Because, of course, they didn’tjustcommit a crime. No, they practically gift-wrapped it, left a thank-you note, and signed it with their full legal names right in front of the Candy Maker’s—aka, the neighborhood wraith’s—shop. And now? Now they’re casually strolling around withhercorpse slung over their backs onherstreet.
What’s next? Dialing up the cops for a group confession? I don’t want to be a part of that.
And yet,I’mthe one being interrogated. Like I did the worst thing ever.
“Are we seriously doing this in the middle of the street?” I gesture at the dimly lit road around us. “Or are you just itching to get arrested for everything you’ve done? Because if so, you’re doing a great job.”
Talon looks like he wants to smirk but holds it back, too busy being pissy about how I ‘lied’ to them. Except, technically, I never lied. I never told them what would happen to me if they killed my ex-husband—I just... gracefully omitted the subject altogether. I focused on what they wanted to hear. A tit for tat.
And now?
