Cassian’s gaze hooks into mine. “We’ll never know how long that would’ve been. The afterlife isn’t this. It’s… different.”
My mouth goes dry.
Somewhere beyond the thin wall, Mark lets out a sound that’s half sob, half the wet, broken noise of a throat remembering how to be one.
It’s funny what starts to feel normal after forty-eight hours.
“You know what I mean,” I whisper.
“I do,” Cassian says. “I’m just reminding you that you’re the one in charge, Skye.”
“Yup,” Talon adds lightly. “Just say the word, and it’s over.”
I take a deep breath and close my eyes.
How easy would it be to let them both distract me again? To lose myself in the way they worship me until all the thoughts and guilt and questions dissolve.
It was so much simpler when all I had to feel was the high of revenge.
But no—apparently my mind has decided thatthis—the quality of Mark’s judgment—is the topic of the morning. And therefore, the topic of eternity, until I finally make a decision.
I scrub a hand over my face.
“Ugh, I can’t do this right now.” I slide out from under Talon and stand. The floor is pleasantly cool beneath my feet. “Distract me. Let’s do something. We can just… let some time pass, and then I’ll decide.”
Cassian sits up slowly, the sheet slung low around his hips, his chest marked with a few hickeys. Talon just drops back against the bed and stretches his arms overhead.
“Do something, huh?” Talon drawls. “You mean should we do laundry again or start planning another murder?”
I snort. “I mean, murder would be a great distraction, to be honest.”
“You want it?” he asks. “We could go look for a victim in some shady, dark corner of the world. There’s nothing that gives perspective like that, let me tell you.”
I smile, then shake my head. I bet if we did that, I’d feel even more restless when we came back.
“No.” I mutter it. “I don’t want anything violent.”
Cassian’s voice is low as ever. “What did you have in mind, then?”
“I don’t know. Something that doesn’t involve screaming men or moral calculus.” I glance out the window; the crow situation hasn’t changed a bit. “Maybe show me the Skystones. I want to know how many potential wraiths we could be dealing with at any given moment.”
Cassian raises an eyebrow. “I’d say the Skystones do involve screaming men and moral calculus.”
“Oh, whatever.” I wave him off.
Mark screams again. This time I’m not nonchalant, I’m actually annoyed. It’s less guilt and more irritation that he keeps reminding me he exists. That irritation solidifies my plan.
“Where do you keep them?” I ask, bending to pull on my custom sweatpants and sliding one leg in.
“Far,” Cassian says after a beat, smoothing the sheet over his hip. It does absolutely nothing to hide the impressive bulge between his thighs. Gods. The sheet might as well be highlighting it. I’m staring hard enough that I almost miss his next words.
“Skye.”
My gaze drags up to his face. “What?”
“Either you finish getting dressed and we go see the Skystones,” he says, tone steady and maddeningly calm, “or you take all that off and come back to bed.”
I realize that I slid only one leg into my sweatpants. Then I got distracted and started staring at Cassian’s penis. Oh, well.
