My fists curl so tight the paper crinkles, my nails biting crescent moons into my palms. “You went through her things.”
“Of course I fucking did. I wanted to see who you were losing your balls over.”
“Say that again,” I breathe, far too quietly. Because if he does… I don’t trust myself not to shift.
“We need this,” Froggy snaps. “This is our shot. Our way out. Fake IDs, new passports, clean names, a safe country. A life without running. And all we need is?—”
“No.”
My voice comes out low, cold, final.
“You don’t even know what I was going to say?—”
“You were going to say we need to use her,” I growl. “Rob her. Scam her. Hurt her.”
Buff lifts a tentative hand. “What if we just ask her? She’s very nice.”
Neither of us look at him.
Froggy explodes. “We don’t ask humans for help! We take opportunities before someone else kills us! Have you forgotten the bounty? The hunters? The fucking Eustace twins?”
“I’m not touching her money,” I snarl.
Froggy steps forward, eyes burning with fury and fear. “You’re betraying us. Us. For her. For a blind human woman.”
“She’s not?—”
The words choke out, splintering in my throat. Because none of the endings I could give that sentence are safe. Or true. Or small enough to fit in my mouth without breaking something open.
“She’s not what?” Froggy snaps, stepping closer. “She’s not a mark? Or she’s not just a human to you?”
The air goes razor-thin. Buff stops breathing. Froggy’s heartbeat spikes. Mine stutters, then slams because there it is, the truth I’ve been running from, circling, burying under instinct and duty and every reason we should’ve stayed away from her. She’s not a mark. She’s not just a human. She’s not disposable. She’s not part of the job.
She’s Violet.
And that realization slices through me with terrifying clarity, leaving me exposed.
“Holy shit,” Froggy whispers. “Youarein love with her.”
My jaw clenches hard enough to crack.
Buff murmurs, soft and certain, “He is.”
“No.” My voice rings hollow. “I… no.”
“You are,” Froggy says, and this time there’s no spite. Only terror. “And you’re going to get us killed.”
“I won’t hurt her,” I grit out.
“And I won’t die for her,” Froggy snarls.
He storms off, and halfway through the first stride, his body explodes into motion. White fur tears through skin, bones reshaping with a crack that echoes through the trees, and then he’s gone, bolting into the forest in a flash of rage and panic.
A furious howl rips from him, raw enough to shake the branches.
Buff watches the white blur disappear into the trees, then gives a long, weary exhale. This isn’t the first time he’s watched Froggy self-destruct.
“He’ll cool off,” he says quietly.
