My breath hitches in my throat as another wave of some unknown emotions rush through me. Fear? Something jagged and sour, like… betrayal?
Oh god.
I led them to that pool girl who was supposed to die but didn’t. I stayed at their weird base, lingered under their weird roof, and helped them stalk a woman to her definitely-not-sinister candy shop.
We knocked her out.
Dragged her to that hell-pit of a basement.
Then killed her.
That was murder number two. Right in front of me.
Then we did somethingunspeakableto another Grim Reaper—just to turn the Candy Maker into a goddamn wraith and fight for our lives.
And after all that?
IsavedCassian’s soul. Shoved it back into his body even though he was supposed to die. That scar on his very naked, very sculpted chest? Yeah. That’s mine. There was a hole there before.
I was a witness.
A confidant.
An accomplice.
They shouldn’t hurt me. Theycan’t.
But the look in Cassian’s eyes is seriously… weird. He’s changed, gone dark and unreadable, and he’s still coming closer.
I don't think. I just react. My palms hit the ground, scraping over shattered glass and rough asphalt as I scramble back like some kind of wounded thing. My body’s shaking, lungs burning, and every instinct I’ve got is screaming “run”.
“Okay, listen,” I rasp, my voice hoarse from all this smoke and burning wreckage clawing at my throat. “I know this looks bad—”
“Bad?” Talon says from behind Cassian.
“Yes! Yes, I know it’s weird and sudden, but please, just… don’t—”
And just as I’m about to deliver the most cliché line imaginable, already picturing Cassian slashing a dagger at me—one my raven made, by the way, by splitting a scythe into three Cassian-sized murder toys—
He bends down.
Picks something off the ground.
And hurls it at me.
I flinch. Blink. It hits me with a wet slap.
“Put this on,” he rasps. “You’ve got goosebumps.”
I glance down. My fingers close around something heavy, damp, and God, sticky. It squelches in my grip, and I instantly regret being able to feel this much now that I have a body again.
It’s a jacket.Hisjacket. Bloodied, grimy, and still warm from his skin. Still echoing with everything that happened before I went one-on-one with Death.
I stare at it for a moment, trying to process. My mind is still spinning, thoughts slipping sideways every time I try to focus.
“I do?” I ask.
The question is genuine. I haven’t noticed the cold. But his eyes flick down to my chest, and something hardens in his jaw.
