I’m still recovering from that monstrosity.
There was also a scarf.
I don’t even want totalkabout the scarf.
Listen, I’m not unreasonable. If you want to steal, fine. Everyone needs a little edge. But if you’re going to commit a crime, at least steal something worth it.
And yes, I helped her. Because I’m such asaint, apparently.
I told her she was an idiot. Thattheywere idiots. That if she ever got caught doing something that pathetic again, I wouldn’t waste my own precious time rescuing her again. Then I did it anyway.
Not because I’m some bleeding heart. I certainly don’twantto be her saviour.
I just hate seeing her let people dim her down just to feel included.
In all honesty, I never meant to care, and yet I sometimes catch myself making sure she’s still there, still okay.
Because if Paris ever fully morphs into one ofthem, I’ll be forced to fake my own death. Or set something on fire. Maybe both.
God, I wish she had better taste in people.
Or at least worse taste in me.
I remember the first time I saw her. A bookish, quiet girl who—whenever asked a single question—went sickly pale. As if the thought of answering made her physically ill.
I recall thinking she might even faint.
At the time, I hadn’t paid much attention to it. Toherin general. Over time, I’ve found I quite enjoy her company.
She stops beside me now, hovering like mist.
“W-what was that… about?” she asks, voice so soft I almost miss it.
I sigh through my nose, tired. “What was what?”
“Adeline,” she says. “I-is she… a-alright?”
I shrug slowly. “You tell me.”
Paris shifts, eyes flicking between mine. There’s a storm gathering in her fidgeting. “I s-saw the way you were l-looking at her.”
I turn my head, meet her eyes fully, and raise a brow. “Oh?” I murmur. “And how, pray tell, was I looking at her?”
Paris bites her lip—the lower one, slightly off-centre—and hesitates. “You c-can’t fool me, Kai,” she says. “W-what do you want from her? Why make me hack her phone?”
My lips curve. “Want? Who says I want anything at all?” I reply, gently. “Wantis such a narrow road.”
Paris exhales, and for a second it almost looks like disappointment. Then she rolls her eyes. “She’s… nice,” is all she says.
Nice.
That is… not the word I expected.
Adeline makes her uncomfortable. That much is obvious to me. It’s not that she doesn’t trust her—I don’t think it’s even about Adeline as a person. It’s the resemblance. Thelikeness.
To Mason.
It’s uncanny. Uncomfortable. And Paris, as much as she may deny it, has never been immune to ghosts.
