“Are you hurt?” Bishop asked, his voice as gentle as his grasp.
Kit flinched into the tenderness, desperately grateful Bishop hadn’t asked if he was all right. Because he wasn’t. He didn’t know. He was never all right, not really, and not now.
What were you supposed to do when someone died? Kit wanted to run, but he should probably—you were supposed to check for a pulse, right? Oh god.
“Is she,” Kit stumbled over his words. “She’s—we should check—”
“She’s dead,” Bishop said firmly. He touched Kit’s shoulders now, still so achingly gentle.
Kit shook between a laugh and a sob. “Right. Yeah. I guess that’s obvious.” He closed his eyes. Counted to four. He couldn’tmake it to ten, even racing through the numbers. “I should check on James.”
“James is fine,” Bishop said, just as firmly. But under the weight of Kit’s disbelief, Bishop sighed. “You can’t help him right now. You shouldn’t help him right now.”
James just murdered their hostage. There were no screams, no final words. Melissa was so powerless, she never saw her killer coming. One moment, she was a person. The next, she was a body. Right now, she was still bleeding out on the same concrete floor Kit lay on once, pretending to be dead.
The idea of helping James at this moment was absurd.
Almost as absurd as how Kit’s heart rebelled against the idea that he shouldn’t. He wanted to comfort James. He wanted to make sure James was okay.
But Bishop was right. Darius was upstairs, and Holden. They would have to deal with James, for the simple reason that Kit’s shaky knees wouldn’t allow him upstairs.
“I need to sit down,” Kit whispered.
“That’s a good idea,” Bishop said soothingly, almost sounding relieved. Like he expected Kit to fly upstairs on shaky wings.
Sitting was easy with Bishop supporting his elbows. Kit folded into a broken puzzle, and Bishop folded too. And it was even easier to take the coward’s route, turning away from the silent corpse. Bishop sat with his back against the wall, and Kit crawled into his lap.
A small, bruised piece of Kit’s heart expected to be shoved away. Instead, Bishop cradled the back of Kit’s head, drawing him in. Kit’s cheek pressed against the soft fabric of Bishop’s t-shirt, the warmth of muscle beneath.
There was nothing sexual about it. The intimacy was simply a shelter. Bishop was protecting him.
Maybe Kit should turn around. Maybe he owed it to Melissa to look at her body, like he’d looked at her face when she was unconscious. Maybe he should bear witness instead of escaping.
But he carried so many rigid faces in his heart already. He couldn’t.
Helplessness stung. Kit had thought he had power over James. That his presence alone could control James’s rage—like with Holden’s obsession. But the power of comfort and connection had snapped in an instant.
Evelyn Zhou was the third Rat King.
Bishop stroked soothing shapes up and down Kit’s back. The touch failed to unwind Kit’s nerves, but that wasn’t the point. Keeping Kit from spiraling worse was victory enough.
“I couldn’t stop him,” Kit whispered, hands twisting in Bishop’s shirt.
Bishop’s breath feathered through Kit’s hair. “I could have. Not in the moment, but at any point prior… I could have kept him out of this basement. I could have refused to help with the abduction.”
Typical Bishop. Always so eager to take responsibility.
“Interesting,” Kit remarked, not as shaky anymore. “You lie to yourself sometimes, too.”
“Blame is a comforting lie, isn’t it? But you’re right.” Bishop’s hands settled behind Kit’s waist. “James would take this road with or without my help. Stopping him would require choices I’m unwilling to make.”
“Turning him in, or your own justice.” Kit’s thoughts were starting to clear, and he resented them for it. Melissa sat dead in her chains behind him. Kit shouldn’t be coping this well.
He’d probably panic again later, when it was least convenient. That sounded like him.
“I believe in James’s goal, and every day, I choose to be complicit,” Bishop said quietly. “He’s motivated by vengeance, but taking down his family’s killers will serve justice too. Which is a nice way to justify helping him because he’s my friend.”
Kit buried his face in Bishop’s chest, taking comfort in the steady heartbeat. Maybe he shouldn’t ask this of Bishop, but he felt too safe to restrain his words. “Is it wrong of me to love him so much? Or Darius, or Holden…”
