Beside him, there’s a stack of books—worn, mismatched, some barely held together by their spines. They lean toward him like they’re seconds away from collapsing. A chipped mug rests on the table nearby, steam still curling from it in thin wisps.
Coffee. I can smell it from here.
I shift slightly in bed to see him better. My muscles protest, stiff and uncooperative. Still, I manage to sit up, careful not to make a sound.
He looks exactly the same as he did a couple hours ago. He’s clearly showered and changed clothes, but you wouldn’t know it. He’s still dressed head-to-toe in black, collar to boots, with at least three knives strapped to him. I spot one at his hip, another at his thigh, and a smaller one near his shoulder. There are probably more hidden beneath the folds of his gear.
His hair is tousled, messy in a way that says sleep wasn’t part of whatever plan he’s running. His eyes are narrowed, fixed on the page like the rest of the world doesn’t exist.
And for a while, I just watch.
Because damn, he’s beautiful. An infuriatingly attractive bastard, even though I hate his guts half the time. In the flashlight’s beam, his burnt-orange hair looks almost copper. There’s a glint to it that makes him seem otherworldly. Like a flame that refuses to burn out. His lashes cast sharp shadows on his cheekbones, and the hard line of his jaw tenses now and then, like he’s silently reacting to whatever he’s reading.
“Like to watch in the dark, do we, Little Grim?” he says suddenly, voice low enough that the other two don’t so much as twitch. Slowly, almost lazily, Talon lifts his gaze from the book and turns his head toward me.
My breath hitches. Busted.
“I wasn’t watching,” I lie, voice scratchy and thin. “Just… woke up.”
Talon hums, clearly unconvinced, but amused. “Right. Woke up and just happened to be staring at me like a little creep.”
I don’t dignify that with a response. Mostly because he’s not wrong. And also because my throat’s too dry to risk another sentence.
“Not that I’m judging,” he adds. “I’ve been staring at your ass every time I took a break from my little study mission.”
“Are you calling yourself a creep?” I whisper.
“When it comes to you?” He smiles. Tired, but disarmingly so. “Fuck yes.”
He closes the book with a soft thump and sets it aside. The flashlight stays in his grip, but he tilts it downward, casting shadows across the floor. It makes his expression harder to read, all shadows and suggestion.
“Go back to sleep, Little Grim,” he murmurs. “I’m on watch tonight. No wraith’s getting close enough to touch you. I’ll stop her before she even gets the chance.”
Ah. That explains all the gear. He’s ready for a fight, if it comes to that. Still, I narrow my eyes.
“I thought regular weapons didn’t work on her?” I raise a brow. But instead of heading back to bed like a sensible person, I slide my legs off the mattress and pad barefoot across the cold floor.
“They don’t,” he replies. “That’s why I’ve got this baby.”
He nods toward the small curved dagger next to his books. The one Pain made.
“What about the rest of it?” I stop a few feet away, arms loosely crossed. I gesture to his black clothes, his boots, the various weapons strapped across his body.
“We’re not just being hunted by the wraith anymore, are we?” he says. “There are other players now. I’m prepared for all of them.”
I glance at the others. Only now do I realize Cassian and Nathaniel are dressed the same: black gear, combat boots, weapons. Ready. Even in their sleep.
“I see,” I mutter. “Still, I doubt you’re faster than a murder ghost that moves like a car.”
I turn back to him, only to find he’s already on his feet.
Fast.
Before I can take a full breath, he’s behind me. One gloved hand wraps around my waist; the other gently tilts my head to the side. His mouth hovers just above my ear.
“I’m faster than you think,” Talon murmurs, voice a scrape of heat against my skin.
My pulse skips. The warmth of his breath ghosts down my neck, dragging goosebumps in its wake.
