“Skye,” he says flatly, “I can see your tits.”
Oh.
I follow his gaze, and… yeah. There they are. Front and center. No shirt, no bra, no anything between me and the world but a fine layer of ash.
“Right,” I say, and it comes out faint, dazed. “I’m naked.”
But I still don’t do anything about it.
“You think?” he snaps.
I squeeze the jacket in my hands.
“But you wouldn’t hurt a naked woman,” I say, almost to myself. “Right?”
His expression freezes.
“Hurt you?” He laughs, short, sharp, and humorless. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“I don’t know,” I mumble. “You just… looked like you were going to stab me.”
Cassian’s mouth opens like he’s going to argue. Then closes again. He looks at me like I’ve grown another head. Nope, scratch that. All three of them do. Talon and Nathaniel look completely incredulous, too.
“I’m serious,” I add softly. “I thought you were going to kill me.”
Nathaniel sighs, dragging a blood-smeared hand down his face. The motion smears the dried streak across his temple lower toward his cheek.
“I don’t know what that wraith did to you,” he mutters, “but I think it knocked something loose.”
“Put the goddamn jacket on,” Cassian snaps, his voice rougher now. “Do I really need to spell it out for you?”
“Well, maybe she just likes being naked in front of an audience,” Talon says with a smirk. “Not that I’m complaining. But we did just walk away from a flaming car wreck. People are staring, some are already on the phone with emergency services, and, oh yeah, we’ve got a corpse in the trunk. A very illegal, very murdered corpse. Not exactly the best time for a thirst trap, don’t you think, Skye?”
My stomach twists.
Right.
The Candy Maker. Wrapped in plastic. Shoved in the trunk.
The murderer got murdered.
That should feel like a win. But all I feel is dread.
If someone reports this, and they probably will, that woman must’ve had friends, what happens then? I’ll be the one they hunt. If they catch me, they’ll cuff me. Put me on trial. Lock me away. And I’ll deserve it, won’t I? Even if the corpse in the trunk had it coming, even if I came back wrong—
Wait.
Can I be locked away?
Can I phase through bars?
Can I doanything?
The thought slams into me harder than any fear. Because I don’t know.
I raise my hand slowly, as if it might bite me. My fingers tremble. My nails are suspiciously clean, no soot in the creases, no ash beneath them. Like I was truly born anew, and only the dust in the air has settled on my skin.
But what I’m really looking for is something deeper, some sense of energy. Power. The thrum of my soul still tethered to something beyond death.
