I glance over my shoulder.
He’s still there, grinning like the devil himself, one hand gripping the side rail to keep from being flung across the ambulance as Cassian jerks the wheel again.
“What?” he says, all fake innocence. “I’m appreciating the moment. Do you know how rare this is? Watching a Grim Reaper—sorry, ex-Grim Reaper, or whatever the hell you are now, change into neon-orange scrubs in the back of a stolen ambulance during a high-speed authority escape? This is cinema, Little Grim. You should be honored.”
Cinema. Uh-huh. Sure. This is cinema. For the kind of depraved, underground horror-comedy that gets banned in twelve countries before developing a cult following among emotionally stunted insomniacs.
Maybe for them.
“You’re lucky I don’t have my scythe right now,” I mutter, jamming one leg into the blinding pants. “I’d shove it somewhere anatomically improbable.”
“Aw,” he purrs, completely shameless. “I’d shove something somewhere too. Doesn’t matter where, as long as it’s yours.”
I yank the top on so fast I nearly choke myself.
What the hell did he just say?
“If that was your idea of sexy,” I snap, yanking the scrub top over my head, “you really need to recalibrate. You sound like a drunk frat boy.”
Talon has the audacity to look thoughtful. “Mm. No appreciation for art in chaos. Got it.” He tilts his head slightly, lips twitching. “You’re cranky when you’re exposed. I like it.”
“You’re about five seconds away from getting kicked in the face.”
“Worth it,” he says, grinning. Then his expression shifts. Not gone, just…lower. Smoother. Like a panther switching from play to hunt.
He leans back slightly, elbows on the rail behind him, watching me with lazy heat.
“How about this,” he murmurs, voice like melted sin. “You, scowling in those neon-orange scrubs, glaring like you’d rather murder me than breathe? You look like a little convict who needs to be punished. And fuck, it’s doing things to me.”
And I’m so caught off guard something inside me short-circuits.
But worse… He keeps going.
“I’d pin you against the side of this ambulance, tear those pants right off, and leave bite marks so deep your next life would feel them.”
My breath catches. My hands don’t move. Something tightens low in my stomach, coiling heat with sharp, dangerous interest.
“You’d hate it,” he adds, voice dropping. “All that control you cling to? Gone. I’d make you beg, just once. Just to hear how you sound when you say please.”
The back of the ambulance suddenly feels ten degrees hotter.
I want to slap him. I want to kiss him. I want to shove him against the wall and climb him like a tree. My power flares, crackling under my skin, and just like that, I start glitching.
One second, I’m standing there, pulse hammering. The next, I’m flickering out of phase like a broken lightbulb. The fabric of the scrubs disappears, then flickers back, then vanishes again.
Talon straightens a little, watching me glitch with open fascination. “...Okay, I was kind of joking, but—damn. Did I just turn you on that much?”
Cassian glances at me in the rearview mirror, eyes narrowing. “What the fuck is happening?”
I can’t answer. My mouth opens, but no sound comes out. My entire body feels like it’s being yanked between two planes of reality. My limbs hum and vibrate like I’m stuck in some kind of cosmic buffering loop. Like the universe can’t load me properly.
And then, I drop.
Hard. My knees slam the floor. The world tilts. Scrubs gone again, then back, then gone.
Cassian’s gaze flashes to me in the mirror; his already-thin patience ripping into full-blown alarm. “Skye! What’s wrong?”
I can't speak. I just slap a hand over my chest, trying to hold myself together as my vision distorts and reality buckles. My fingers slip through my own skin like mist. My body flickers. Burns. Then goes numb. Then burns again.
