My breaths grow shallow, my eyes closing as a wave of cold panic crashes through my body.
“Is this—” He reaches for my wrist and I stop breathing altogether, holding still as his thumb softly grazes the shortcuff. “I’m sorry,” he says, still fighting a smile, “but is this a children’s costume?”
My cheeks heat.
“Rosabelle.” He says my name like I’m in trouble. “You’ve got the full force of the resistance flooding the streets, snipers stationed on rooftops ready to take you out, and you’ve been running around town in a little kid’s cat onesie? With a tail?”
“I was—The inseam of an adult size would’ve been too long on me.” I falter, mortified. “I couldn’t—There was no time to try on different sizes—”
“Wow,” he says, his eyes shining.
I shake my head. “Please,” I say. “Please don’t do this. Don’t make me do this.”
He releases my wrist and I nearly give it back.
“Do what?” he asks.
This isn’t fair. I can hardly breathe. I’m so disarmed around him I don’t even realize I’m practically begging when I say, “I really, really don’t want to kill you.”
He leans in.
Suddenly he’s so close I can feel the heat of him. So close I can almost count his freckles; so close I can no longer feel the cold, can no longer access my mind.
I think I might be trembling.
He whispers, “That’s practically a declaration of love, Rosabelle Wolff.”
I take a sharp breath and draw back, my heart slamming painfully against my ribs. I try to clear my head, but I’m up against the truck, and I’ve only bought myself a few inches. My hood slips off, exposing my face to freshlywindswept rain. “How did you even find me?”
James considers this a moment, then reaches for me slowly, as if approaching a wild animal. I hold still, trying not to exhale as he pulls the hood back over my head. I feel him adjust the wilting cat ears.
“Everyone else thinks you’re on your way to commit mass murder,” he says. “They’ve taken positions all over the city, covering major landmarks and densely populated areas.” He shakes his head, releasing me. “This is the closest airbase to the prison. I knew once you realized where you were, you’d be trying to find the most efficient way to get home.”
My heart is so loud now I can almost hear it over the rain. “You don’t know that,” I say faintly. “Maybe I am trying to commit mass murder.”
His eyes soften in a way that scares me. “Liar.”
“You can’t make me stay here.”
He briefly looks away, over his shoulder. “You know I can’t let you leave.”
“Just pretend you never found me.” I sound desperate, even to myself. “You can walk away right now—”
Slowly, he shakes his head. Even more slowly, he rises to his feet, towering over me, blocking out the rain. “You’re soaked through the bone, Rosabelle. You’ve barely slept in days. You’re clearly not eating enough. You need to get out of the storm. You need sleep. You need soup.” Then, studying me: “Do you like soup?”
He’s silent for long enough that I realize he’s waiting for an answer.
“Is that a real question?” I ask, frowning at the blur of red lights still flashing in the distance.
“Do I look like I’m joking?” he says, crossing his arms.
I meet his eyes. “You want to know if I like soup?”
“Yes.”
“Now?”
“Yes.”
