Oh.
The driver pulled away from the curb. “Où à Saint-Germain?”Where in Saint-Germain?
“Odéon,” I answered, recalling the name from themap.
Tristan ran his fingers through his silvering black hair. “Odéonis a subway station,Leigh.”
“It’s close to where I’mgoing.”
“It’s five o’clock in the morning,” Tristan said. “I’m not dropping you off in front of a subwaystation.”
“I walked all the wayhere.”
“I didn’t know youthen.”
“Really, Tristan, it’sfine.”
“Leigh. . .”
Ugh.“Fine.” It wasn’t as though I would ever see him again after today. “Cour du Commerce Saint-André.”
The thought dampened my already low spirits. No wonder no one had ever succeeded in reforming Jarod Adler. I mulled over every minute he’d allotted me. Could I have done something differently, or would he have tossed me out whatever I’d said? I was still contemplating this when the driver pulled up to the curb of the Boulevard Saint-Germain.
I got out, and so didTristan.
“You’re not planning on walking me to my door, are you now?” Our quartz residences only appeared to angel-bloods, so it wasn’t as though he would see anything besides a normal human entryway if he peeked inside the guild, but still, I didn’t think my fellow Fletchings and the Ophanim would appreciate sinners knowing where theylived.
He raised another brazen smile. “I pride myself on being thoroughlycourteous.”
His chivalry was beginning to weigh on me. “You’rerelentless.”
“They don’t call me the Pitbull fornothing.”
Goose bumps rushed over me. “How did you earn thatnickname?”
“Because Ineverletgo.”
I absorbed his answer slowly. “Is that because you’re scared of where you’dland?”
His smile faltered. “What?”
“People usually hang on because they’re terrified offalling.”
I started down the narrow, winding street, hoping the analysis of his psyche had been so unwelcomed he wouldn’t follow. But soon, the faint click of my heels wasn’t the only sound echoing on thecobblestones.
“I’m not afraid of anything.” Tristan trapped my shoulder and spun mearound.
I inspected his face. “Everyone’s scared of something whether consciously ornot.”
Wetting my lips, I thought of how I feared failing my angelic training in time—and I wasn’t talking about Asher’s nuptials. I was talking about the fourteen months I had left before my wing bones vanished from my undeservingback.
I sighed.Eighty-two . . .I’d only lost one feather, yet my wings felt ounces lighter. “But fear isn’t inherently bad. Not if you use it as fuel for yourgoals.”
He released me. “What is ityoufear?”
“Not succeeding at what I was born todo.”
“And what isthat?”
