“Alright, you are getting ahead of yourself,” I finally manage, jabbing a finger at Cassian like I’m about to hex him. “Talk all the shit you want about me. Drag my name through the filth, outline in excruciating detail how I personally ruined your trust or whatever. But if you start rewriting history just to make yourself sound like some Olympic-level exhibitionist freak, I’m gonna—”
“What?” Cassian interrupts smoothly, tilting his head as he dares to glance at me, amusement flickering in his gaze. “Gonna kill me?”
His voice is too casual. Too amused. Like we didn’t just almost die. Like we don’t have a literal corpse wrapped in garbage bags stuffed in the trunk.
I willneverget over this.
“Hate to break it to you, sweetheart,” he continues, voice saccharine with mockery, “but I don’t think you’ve got the tools for the job.”
Sweetheart?
Cassian just called mesweetheart?
First of all, absolutely fucking not. That’s gross. I have nothing but horrifying, visceral memories associated with that nickname.
Second of all…
Why doesn’t it suddenly sound nearly as bad as I remember it?
“Oh, fuck off.” I snap, twisting in my seat to glare at him. “I didn’t watch. I walked in. There's a difference.”
Cassian hums like he’s genuinely considering my argument, which is infuriating. “You stood there.”
“For half a second.”
“Much longer than that.”
“What, you were counting?” I lean forward, incredulous. “Oh, I’m sorry, was I supposed to whip out a stopwatch while you were—”
“Pumping my dick?” he finishes, casually, eyes still locked on the road.
Nathaniel makes a strangled sound, the noise of a man physically in pain. Talon groans, rubbing at his face like he can scrub the last thirty seconds out of existence.
“Alright, that's enough,” Nathaniel mutters. “We have an actual problem, and you two are flirting—”
“I’m not flirting!” I squawk, voice so high-pitched I might as well start communicating with bats.
“You kinda are,” Talon mutters.
I whip toward him, betrayed. “You're supposed to be mad at me, not agreeing with his psychotic delusions!”
“Doesn’t mean you’re not flirting,” he shrugs. But something’s off in his tone. Something sharp-edged, irritated. Like he’s pissed off for an entirely different reason now.
I hate this car ride.
I hate these men.
I hate existence.
Things were much simpler when I was just a ghost on my willow tree.
Cassian, that smug bastard, smirks. “For someone so adamant that it didn’t happen, you sure do remember a lot of details.”
I inhale sharply, forcing myself not to act on my impulses. I bet I could do it now. I could just whip out my scythe and force Cassian’s soul out. Just like that. And if I couldn’t? Doesn’t mean I couldn’t try.
“I remember just enough to regret every single life choice that’s led me to this moment,” I grind out.
Cassian hums again, like he's pleased with himself. Like he won.
