“He hasn't come down yet,” Nathaniel answers.
“Down? He’s staying somewhere on the higher floors?” I move to the window, peering up at the hospital’s upper levels. Most of the windows are shattered or coated in grime. The entire top half of the building looks like it would surrender to a strong breeze.
The idea of Cassianwillinglychoosing to sleep up there is… interesting.
“He’s got a thing for heights,” Nathaniel says, settling into a chair. “Or maybe he just likes being hard to reach.”
I scoff. “Sounds about right.”
Talon, still sprawled on the couch like a lazy housecat, props his head up with an arm. “He’ll come down when he’s ready—or when we go up there and drag his broody ass down.” His smirk sharpens. “Wanna volunteer, Little Grim? You’re the only one who doesn’t get tired walking up stairs.”
“Hard pass.” I lean against the wall again. “I'm not your errand girl.”
Nathaniel chuckles, low and deep, as he flicks a stray piece of lint off his sleeve. Again, I can't get over him smiling and laughing so casually like this. My heart does an undignified, traitorous little flip.
“What if we ask you real nice, Skye?” He rolls the words over his tongue like he’s undressing a favor rather than requesting it. That manipulative, well-practiced sort of sweet. The type that probably convinced a few unfortunate souls to sign away their life savings before realizing the ink never dried.
I narrow my eyes at him, arms still crossed. “I don’t think there’s a version of ‘real nice’ that would make me fetch your grumpy pet serial killer—who, by the way, doesn’t even think I’m a real person.”
Nathaniel hums, entirely unbothered.
“Even if I promise that right after we catch the Candy Maker, we’ll focus solely on your husband?”
That gets me. I don't move, don't blink, just let his words sink in.
By the looks of it, Nathaniel already knows I'm deep in.
“Ex-husband. Till death do us part, right?” I correct, too quickly. “Why don’t you do it yourself?” I murmur, letting my gaze skim over him. Today, he’s wearing something a little more… fitted. Still black as night, but this time, no flowy fabrics. Just a sharp vest, a tight black shirt, and pants that—unfortunately—leave very little to the imagination.
I hate that I notice.
Nathaniel’s body isn’t built for brute strength like Cassian. Nathaniel’s more lean. He shifts in his seat, and the fabric strains just enough to remind me that this man works out. Like, prison workout levels of dedication.
“Isn’t stair climbing a great workout for you two?” I counter. “You know, build endurance, get those legs moving? I hear it does wonders for longevity. Wouldn’t want you dropping dead before we get to my revenge.”
“I need to start working on the murder substance soon,” Nathaniel says flatly. Like that’s a normal thing people say. “Talon will handle cleanup prep. We could wait until Cassian decides to come down, sure, but the faster we work, the faster we get to your husband.”
I exhale slowly, tapping my fingers against my forearm.
Why does he have to be right with everything?
“Fine. But if he so much as breathes weird in my direction, I’ll find a way to haunt you. Permanently.”
Nathaniel’s lips curve, all slow satisfaction. “I gladly accept.”
Mhm… And here we go again. Another backflip in my chest.
I roll my eyes and turn away before my dead skin can betray me with some tragic attempt at blushing. The last thing I need isfor these pale-ass cheeks to out me as flustered. I refuse. I am a corpse, and corpses donotget flustered.
“Oh, and tell him I've got a shopping list for him to pick up,” Nathaniel calls after me. “Make sure he knows it's non-negotiable.”
I scoff but don’t bother responding. I can already hear Talon chuckling behind me.
Whatever. If Cassian wants to play the brooding recluse, that’s on him. I’ll fetch him, but only because the faster we deal with the Candy Maker, the faster I get what I want.
I move through the hospital’s crumbling halls. The further I go, the more the air is thick with dust and the scent of mildew. The area with the stairs and old elevators is the furthest away from the little living room the guys have made out of the hospital’s old entrance.
“The mold situation is seriously tragic here…” I mutter.
