So, no. I’m not exactly thrilled about attempting this again.
“Come on, don't make us wait forever.” He leans his forearm against the roof of the truck, and smirks. “We don’t have as much time as you do.”
Oh. Ha. Ha.
Nathaniel, already settled in the front seat, clicks his tongue. “She needs to focus on the truck’s physicality. Otherwise, she’ll phase straight through.”
“Like a ghost,” Cassian mutters, slamming the tailgate shut.
“No. Not like aghost,” I hear Nathaniel argue.
There’s something about the way he says it that makes my nonexistent stomach do a weird little flip—not in fear, but in a how the hell do you know so much about what I am? kind of way.
I try not to let it show as I steel myself, clench my fists, and will myself to stay solid. It takes effort—more than I want them to see—but I manage. When I finally slide into the backseat, I feel the truck’s fabric against my legs, the faint vibrations of the engine running.
The edges of my existence still tingle with every touch—not as much as when Foxface almost touched me before, but still enough to be deeply inconvenient. That changes when he slides in next to me and his hand brushes mine.
“Shit,” I curse, taking my hand away like he just licked it. Which, honestly, would be less confusing. Because instead of normal, healthy personal space reactions, my whole body decides to react like someone just plugged me into a malfunctioning neon sign. A live wire snaps across my skin, too much sensation all at once, like my soul is horny for danger. Foxface stills. He doesn’t smirk. Doesn’t move away. Just watches me with something dangerously close to curiosity.”What?” I snap, trying to shake off the lingering static—and failing.
His lips part slightly, like he's about to say something. But then he just huffs a quiet breath, leans back in his seat, and rolls his shoulders.
“Nothing,” he mutters.
Lies. Filthy, Foxface-shaped lies. But it doesn’t matter. I don’t want to demask them regardless.
Whatever this weird…zingwas, it better not happen again. I have enough problems.
Nathaniel's eyes are on me. He's looking at me through the rearview mirror before he focuses on driving off. The movement jolts me slightly, but I stay grounded. Barely. Unlike most of the time, I can't find it in me to gather myself and feel… stable.
And bad things happen when an incorporeal being gets unstable. I wouldn't want to flicker in and out of this plane and get myself stuck in the darkness as it was sometimes the case.
Get it together, Skye. You’re an old-ass Grim Reaper. Experienced. You handle this shit.
“Where are we going?” I ask, mostly to fill the silence. Also, partly to focus on staying in the car and not unintentionally melting through it.
“Our place,” Foxface says.
“With the garbage bags?”
“Yeah,” he answers. “Gonna dispose of them there.”
Um, okay.
“Right,” I mutter. “Whatever you say.”
Cassian makes a noise in the front seat. Not quite agreement, not quite dissent. Nathaniel's hands tighten slightly around the wheel.
Did I hit a nerve, or something?
Foxface turns his head toward me, suddenly grinning like a maniac. It’s not an ugly smile. Quite the opposite of that, actually. But when he opens his mouth, I immediately know why he’s giving it to me in the first place.
He’s about to bullshit.
“So, your name's Skye,” he drawls, laying it on thick. “Quite a pretty name. Quite fitting, too. You hover around, always watching. I like it.”
I roll my eyes so hard I almost astral project. But the comparison gnaws at me. I don’t want to be some hovering presence, a forgotten specter lingering in the corners of the world. At least not anymore. Didn’t seem to bother me before they decided to carve my bones like artisanal soap. But still.”Yeah, well, I'd say you're more like a cockroach,” I mutter. “Crawling where you shouldn't be.”
That makes him laugh. And God help me, it’s a nice laugh. One of those deep, velvety, “come closer and make bad decisions” laughs. The kind that makes a living girl lean in before remembering this man has hobbies that involve a hacksaw.
