He pulls off the road onto some gravel shoulder and throws the van into park. Then he gets out, slamming the door harder than necessary.
I watch him in the side mirror until he disappears.
And then, noise. A lot of it.
The sharp crunch of metal. Glass breaking. Repeatedly. Loudly. Angry.
He’s destroying the radio. Or just letting out every ounce of frustration he can’t put into words.
“I swear to God,” I mutter, sinking lower in my seat, “that man has issues.”
“Don’t we all?” Talon mutters back. “Too bad for you, you’re stuck with us.”
I glance at him. He shrugs and grins. And that’s when it hits me. This bastard’s right again.
Before, I was untouchable. A Grim Reaper. Something more concept than person. I didn’t breathe, didn’t bleed, didn’t need.
But now?
Now I’m breakable.
Now I’m back in a body that can bruise and scar and panic.
Now I need them.
Ihaveto trust them.
We need to be a team.
Fuck.
Cassian stomps back toward the ambulance, hands still curled like he’s ready to punch through another radio. He swings open the door and climbs back in without a word.
“Well. You’re already dressed like an enemy of the law, Skye,” Talon says, voice lazy. “Might as well commit to the criminal lifestyle.”
Cassian cuts Talon a look sharp enough to gut a man. No words, just that murderous stare that says everything.
And I think… I think Talon said that on purpose just to rile him up.
Nathaniel exhales, long and low. I turn to him, my stomach already bracing.
“Please tell me you have a plan,” I say, and my voice doesn’t even try to pretend it’s calm.
His eyes. Those mismatched blue and gray eyes, meet mine without flinching. Whatever’s going on behind them locks into place, something cold and decisive snapping through his features.
Nathaniel shifts slightly. His expression hardens. Then he nods toward Cassian.
“Drive faster,” he says quietly but firmly. “We need to dump the body. Everything else comes after.”
Cassian doesn’t need telling twice. The ambulance lurches forward, tires spitting gravel as we speed off again, through darkstreets and sleeping neighborhoods, one very real Candy Maker tied up like leftover trash next to us.
And me?
I close my eyes and pray, to whoever might be listening. Preferably someone not actively trying to erase me from existence.
Because right now?
Having been murdered is starting to feel like the least of my problems.
