I nod, letting him lead me onward. By the time we push open the heavy roof-access door, the night has folded itself into velvet. Wind licks my damp collarbone, tugging at the edges of my towel. The city sprawls in the distance. It's a sprawl of bruised gold in the far far distance, separating us by a land of dark, trees and shadows.
And around us?
Crows.
Crows on the AC units. Crows on the railing. Crows below, dotting the rooftop like we’ve shrunk down and wandered into an anthill that turned into birds.
They don’t scatter when we step out.
They just look at me.
Talon sets the music box on the low parapet wall, hits play, and lets something low and smoky hum through the air. Then he tosses me a blanket. It lands half on my head, half on my shoulder. The other one, he spreads on the ground.
“Come on.”
Wind tugs at the corners of the blanket. Talon wedges one edge under the base of the AC unit, then unscrews the tequila and pours two fingers into each tumbler. He tears a salt packet open with his teeth, taps a small white hill on the turntable lid, and drops a pinch of citric acid into the shaker with water, swirling until it clears.
“Gourmet,” I say.
“Say that again slowly,” he says, mock-serious. “Maybe I’ll start believing you mean it.”
He hands me a cup. “Ready?”
“I didn’t come all the way up here to choke,” I tell him. “Salt me.”
“Mm, you’re really going crazy tonight, huh?” he mutters, already holding his wrist out.
I move closer until my thigh presses against his. I take his hand, lean in, and lick the salt off his skin, slowly enough to watch his lips part and stretch into that mischievous grin of his.
Then I knock back the tequila and chase it with the faux-lemon. It burns, in the best way.
“Good?” Talon asks.
“Oh yeah.”
“Good.”
He takes his own shot, sets the tumbler down, and leans back on his hands, shoulders against the parapet. The wind rakes through his hair.
“So,” Talon says, eyes on the skyline. “Full honesty, then? No filters?”
“You make it sound like a big deal,” I say.
“It kind of is.” His gaze shifts to mine. “If you want the polished version, I can give you that. I can make anything sound pretty. Hell, I could put a bow on a bullet if you wanted. I’m gifted like that. But you said to try you.”
“I did.”
“So don’t flinch.”
“I won’t.” I purse my lips. “But just so you know, you don’t have to tell me anything. If you’ve got ghosts, you can keep them.”
I say that, but the truth is, I’ve been wanting to know more about him. About all of them. They already know everything about me: my life, my marriage, my death. And part of me knows that no one becomes what they are without something breaking first. Cassian and Nathaniel proved that much. I doubt Talon’s any different.
Still, I want him to tell me because he wants to, not because I asked.
He meets my eyes, his smile softening into something fragile.
“I don’t want to keep them, babe,” he murmurs. “I want to finally let them go. Otherwise I’ll never move on.”
