“I don’t do attachment,” I call after her.
And yeah, maybe I say it like I know what I’m talking about.
Too bad I don’t.
Iwas never good with a tough crowd. But this might be the toughest one yet.
“Is this a joke?” Cassian asks.
I think it’s rhetorical on his side. There’s nothing light or hopeful in his voice. Nothing that suggests he’s praying I’ll say,Yeah, just kidding, guys. The only thing we need to worry about is Nathaniel’s god-awful coffee. Gotta confirm it until it lands, I suppose.
“Unfortunately for all of us,” I say, “this is not one of my funny moments.”
And that’s when all hell breaks loose.
Talon throws his head back and laughs. Yeah, laughs. Nathaniel stands from the couch and disappears down the hall, while Cassian fixes his gaze on a single spot on the floor, a vein pulsing at his temple. His jaw works back and forth. I think I black out for a second because the shift is so sudden it’s overwhelming.
“Be fucking quiet, Talon,” Cassian says. “Shut the fuck up.”
Talon doesn’t. His laughter dies into a long, pained exhale, like he’s trying to push every ounce of humor out of his lungs before it poisons him.
“Yeah, I was prepared for a lot. But this? Yeah, no,” Talon says, dragging a hand down his face. “So what? You’re still here because there’s still a job to do, yeah? That’s it?”
He lowers his head and looks at me, that same kind of craziness in his eyes as the last time he lost it. But wait a damn minute… Why is this the thing he’s latching onto?
“I, uh… I don’t know,” I say slowly. “I had to tell you guys, right? And apparently I just can’t disappear before I get this done, so…”
His lips twitch, like he’s fighting the urge to laugh again, but the sound that comes out is closer to a scoff.
“Figures. You’re just Death’s little errand girl, aren’t you? Unbelievable.”
I don’t get it. I don’t know where this is coming from. I knew neither of them would be thrilled about the other wraiths, but this isn’t the reaction I expected. It’s not anger at the job, or even at me for telling them. It’s anger at the idea that I’d… accept it?
“What, do I have a choice?” I ask. “It’s my job, not some fucking volunteer program.”
“That’s not what this is about,” he says. Then he snorts, pushes up from his chair so fast it skids back a few inches, and leaves the room too.
I’m confused. Irritated. Pretty freaking sure I just got mistreated by him again.
“What the hell was that?” I mutter, mostly to myself.
Cassian doesn’t answer right away. He’s still in the same position—hands braced on his knees, head tipped down, eyes fixed on the floor. The muscle in his jaw won’t stop flexing, and the vein at his temple looks about one second from bursting.
“We all nearly died because of that fucking wraith,” he says finally. “Youdiddie. For a whole day. And now you’re supposed to fight more of them?”
He lifts his head, and the look in his eyes tells me this is about more than just the job.
“Yeah, I know it’s not perfect, but Death told me—”
“Death can go fuck himself,” he snaps.
I blink. “What?”
“You heard me.”
“Cass—”
“No.” He cuts me off, leaning back and pinning me with that stare that makes the air in the room feel thinner. “You think I’m just gonna sit here and nod while some smug, cosmic parasite decides you’re expendable? No. Fuck that. He doesn’t get to pull your strings like you’re—”
