Jasper signs, “Rules. One: No touching without her consent. Two: No sneaking. Three: No blood in the house over her.”
A long beat. Dredyn and I both nod, almost in sync. It would be funny if it didn’t feel like signing a pact with the devil.
“Good,”Jasper signs, relief flickering and dying fast. He snatches the bottle, pours a splash into his glass, then taps the rim against the desk in lieu of a clink. “To not burning down our own house.”
I drain what’s left in mine. It doesn’t help.
Dredyn takes a step back, rolling his neck. “I’m gonna shower,” he says, like he didn’t just declare war. He turns, hand on the knob, then glances over his shoulder. “Oh, and, Talon?”
“What?”
His grin is pure gasoline. “Tell your girlfriend I said good night.”
The door shuts behind him, and the room exhales. My jaw unclenches for the first time in an hour and instantly starts aching.
Jasper watches me. He doesn’t sign “You okay?”again. He doesn’t have to.
“I’ve got it,” I say, but it sounds like I don’t. I scrub a hand over my face, feel the heat in my cheeks, the guilt under my skin. “We keep her out of PTO’s jaws. We keep the Syndicate off our backs. We keep Dredyn… manageable.”
Jasper’s mouth twitches. “You can’t manage a wildfire. You steer around it.”
“Great,” I mutter. “I’ll go steer.”
He taps the back of my hand once.“And you? Stop playing golden retriever. She’s going to get bored of that quick.”Then slips out.
I’m alone with the echo of my own bullshit. I tell myself it’s still a game. That this is fun. That I’m just doing a favor for a girl who asked me to play pretend.
I picture her in that black top, hair yanked down out of the ponytail, mouth swollen, eyes lit like a fuse. The image hits me low and mean. I breathe through it and fail.
Fake, my ass.
SEVENTEEN
JASPER
She didn’t slam the door.
Didn’t scream.
Didn’t cry.
She just . . . left.
And somehow, that was worse.
Left me in the echo of her footsteps, my gloved hands clenched tight at my sides. Like if I squeezed hard enough, maybe the feeling in my gut would stop.
Maybe she would stop.
But no. She’d lodge her corpse beneath my skin, a splinter of dying light in a man made entirely of a shadow.
Not all fires roar. Some smolder beneath skin and bone.
Ashless. Endless.
They don’t burn you alive. But they leave you walking around half dead, smoke in your lungs, heat in your chest, pretending.
The loudest pain is thekind?—
