Nathaniel’s grip tightens on the Skystone shards.
“That’s not the point,” he says, all frost and finality. “The point is, we don’t walk into things unprepared. And you?Youmade us unprepared.”
I open my mouth. Close it. Consider my options.
...Yeah. This is not looking great for me.
Alright. Fine. Maybe I should’ve mentioned that tiny, minor detail about how Grim Reapers stop being Grim Reapers once their killer croaks. Maybe if I had, the guys would’ve known what to do when the new Grim Reaper popped up like a vengeful jack-in-the-box. Maybe they would’ve just handed over Laura Collins’ soul and called it a day.
Maybe there would be no locking her in the Skystone.
Maybe we would’ve avoided releasing a fucking wraith into the world.
...Maybe.
But also, maybe not. Maybe we’d still be here, sitting in this claustrophobic, tension-choked car, replaying the shitstorm in our heads.
Look, I did keep things from them. I did play this whole thing close to my chest, because why the hell wouldn’t I? I’ve been dead long enough to know that the only person I can truly rely on is myself. Trust is a gamble, and these guys—these professional murderer hunters—aren’t exactly the type to place safe bets.
On the other hand…
They made me feel. They saved me. Cassian yanked me back from the wraith’s gaping abyss, and now, for some fucked-up reason, I feel bad that they’re pissed.
Nathaniel exhales hard, rubbing a hand over his jaw.
“This is what I mean,” he mutters. “You still don’t get it. You’re sitting there, stewing, instead of just saying what you actually think.”
I shoot him a glare. “What do you want me to say? That I’m sorry?”
“Are you?” Talon asks, voice deceptively soft.
I hate that it makes my stomach twist.
“Of course I’m not fucking sorry,” I bite out. “I did what I had to do.”
Cassian makes a sound in the back of his throat, low and considering. “And now look where that got you.”
Iamlooking. At the body crammed into the trunk like an overpacked suitcase. At the shattered Skystone in Nathaniel’s lap. At the shattered Skystone resting on Nathaniel’s lap like a bad omen. At Cassian and his shiny new Grim Reaper murder stick, which I am absolutely not thinking about, because if I do, I might genuinely start foaming at the mouth.
I am looking, and the truth is, I don’t love where I’ve ended up. But at no point did the universe hand me a choose-your-own-adventure pamphlet. I didn’t get any say in pretty much anything.
These men do what they want regardless of what I want.
I shouldn’t be blamed for that.
I press my forehead against the cool car window, watching the city smear past, and, for once, let myself be silent.
That, more than anything, seems to settle something between us. Not fix it—gods, no. But at least the tension shifts from outright fury to grudging, simmering unease.
And then, because the universe is nothing if not consistent in its refusal to let me catch a break—
The wraith appears.
Less than two hours.
That’s all the time the injury Cassian gave the wraith bought us. Less than two short hours before she came back.
I feel her before I see her.
