A laugh escapes me.“No promises.”
“I mean it, Lindy girl.Take a breath.Iwillanswer your questions.”
“We both know I don’t even know what to ask,” I whisper.“And you already said you won’t offer anything up.”
“I know being in the dark is hard,” he says without hesitation.“And I know trusting me to do what’s best for you isn’t easy either.But I’m asking you to do it anyway.Please.Trust me anyway.”
Cold feathers across my arms.The whispers line up like bullet points:
Ask about London.
Who took the girls?
He kills, he probably took the girls.
Call Detective Blake.Tell her our names.Tell her about the parking garage.
Bolo-Hat cuts across them, firm, scolding.I swallow hard, unsure what to say.There’s so much I want to ask, but none of it feels safe to speak out loud.
“You’re not alone in this, Lindy girl,” he adds quietly.“Even when I’m not there.”
His voice is a thread pulling me loose.Wyatt’s shape pools in the corner and mouths:He’ll disappear you next.Tell someone.
Bolo-Hat cuts him off,Spiderweb first.London first.Keep quiet.
“I hate being away from you,” he murmurs.“I hate that I can’t keep eyes on you myself.”
My throat tightens.“I miss you too.”
“I’ll send someone over,” he says gently.“To keep you company.”
I sit up straighter.“What?Who?”
But he’s already gone.
Thirty minutes later, there’s a knock.
I peer through the peephole at a woman who looks like trouble dressed as poetry.I open the door.
She steps inside without the awkward hello people do when they’re new.She locks the deadbolt and stands like she’s assessing exits, sightlines, me.
“I’m Sava,” she says.“Cassius asked me to check in.”
“Melinda,” I say, though she obviously knows.Heat pricks my collarbones.I want to be jealous of her cheekbones, her don’t-even-try-it energy, the obvious bond she and Cassius share in a language I’ll never speak.But the jealousy fizzles as fast as it sparks because something about her lands gentle.I hear my own dumb bucket list in my head—make one real friend—and, God help me, I want it to be her.
She moves through the entry with quiet confidence.Dark waves fall down her back like they grew that way.Black clings like a second skin; thin hoops flash when she glances toward the hallway.There’s a don’t-fuck-with-me look to her that could cut a person down with one glance, and yet when her gaze lands on me, I feel seen in the same way as when Cassius looks.
“Do you—uh—want coffee?”I ask.
She nods, follows, and leans a hip against the counter while I fumble with mugs.My hands shake like I’ve been caught doing something wrong.
“You don’t talk much, huh?”I say, half-joking from the barstool.
“I talk when there’s something worth saying,” she replies, voice low, sure.
“Does that mean I’m worth it, or are you just bored because Cassius left you babysitting?”
She lifts a brow and smirks without looking at me.“He didn’t ask me to stay.I volunteered.”
