“How can you three… help us?” I ask as politely as I can manage. See, my usual response to a mouthy brat is to be even mouthier right back. Can’t really do that here.
“We tell you what we know, and you four go kill our murderers,” Buzz Cut replies. “Or at least that’s the plan. We’re still deciding whether it should go down like that.”
Then her gaze cuts to Talon.
“We should just make you hurt for what you did to Rhea,” Braids says.
The words hit Talon like a blow.
Our bond spikes.
His guilt punches straight through my chest. I have to inhale carefully to keep from choking on it.
“Stop,” I say. “You’re not being fair here.”
Buzz Cut’s gaze slices to me. “Fair?”
Her voice drops.
“How is any of this fair?” she asks softly. “Rhea dies. She gets chained to Death. She drags souls across for years. And your slimy boyfriend gets to forget all about her and not even give her a funeral. Fucking asshole.”
Talon’s face goes somewhere else—somewhere small and hurt and familiar. I’ve only seen it a few times, usually right before he throws a joke over the wound to cover it.
But he doesn’t joke now.
“What do you mean?” he asks. “I remembered Rhea. I never forgot her.”
“Oh, spare us,” the youngest says.
Okay. Yup. In their heads, a verdict has already fallen on Talon, and they clearly hold a grudge against him on Rhea’s behalf. Funny, considering Rhea was just making buttery, loving eyes at him, but alright. I chalk it up to the age they died at.
“You’re angry,” I say, nodding like I understand. “On Rhea’s behalf. But she asked you to tell us more about your murderers so we can help her achieve her goal—whatever it is,” I add silently. “So how about we just… calm down and get to it, yeah?”
I lift my hands, palms out.
“I was murdered too,” I try again, looking for a common ground. “I know how it is to break free.”
A beat.
A small flicker goes through them.
“Also, you may not like us,” I continue. “But we have experience in getting rid of people who shouldn’t be on the living plane anymore.”
Then the one with the braids sighs.
“You guys know nothing about Rhea or what she wants,” she says. “But you’re right. We need you.”
“Doesn’t mean Talon gets a pass, though,” the youngest murmurs.
I swallow, careful.
That’s… a win, I guess.
Braids exhales slowly, her shoulders dropping a fraction. “Rhea sent us ahead,” she says. “Those married monsters have routines. We’ve been tracking them for a while.”
The youngest pushes off the wall and strides toward the table on the far side of the room. There’s a map spread out there now, courtesy of Cassian and Talon, I suppose. It’s weighted down with a mug and a knife.
She points at a stretch of highway marked in Cassian’s tight handwriting, lining her finger up along a route. Whenever she gets too close, her finger passes through the map and the table, and she has to correct herself. Then she glances at us.
