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I sigh, annoyed at the scent permeating the room. Usually, spiritual scent messages go away after a few minutes, but the grim layers only seem to intensify, a copper tang working into the mix.

“Ugh,” I groan, grimacing at the disgusting smell. I shift under the blankets with some difficulty—thanks to the weight of Sunday’s arm—and roll over to glare at him for being the world’s clingiest big spoon.

My thoughts grind to a halt. Sunday’s face is streaked with blood.

I release a breath. He probably just had a nosebleed in the night. I stretch out to swipe at it. Half of it is still fresh, the rest darkened and crusty.

He sighs and rolls his head away from me, revealing a streak of mud smeared up the other side.

What the…?

Quietly, I open my mind to call Delphine forward. She can move freely where my energy is most potent—my home, my place of work. But not here, no. Here I will have to drag her through.

“I’m covering my eyes. I have seen quite enough phalluses for my lifetime,” she calls from the other side of the bedroom.

It’s a fair comment. I may have gotten a little too relaxed in the bathtub one time, which resulted in her getting an eyeful.

“Can you—” I start, turning my head toward her, but bile slams up my throat and chokes my words as I realize what’s causing the smell.

At first, it’s difficult to make out what animal it’s supposed to be, among the decaying entrails and fur.

“Oh my god,” I cough, gagging on my words.

Delphine gasps as she peeks through her fingers, her lace-covered hands coming up to cover her mouth. “What on earth has happened?” she gulps, although she still steps closer, bending over the bed to look at the rotting animal remains.

The sight of it has revulsion twisting my stomach, and I gag again, looking away and covering my mouth.

“Sunday!” I say loudly, thumping him in the meaty flesh of his arm.

He jerks awake, lifting his head with a sleepy look of confusion, until his eyes land on my face and he gives me a dopey smile. Then the smell hits him.

He doesn’t react too badly. Just a slight wrinkling of his nose, and then recognition flares in his eyes. I guess when you’re used to handling cadavers and flesh-eating beetles all day long, a mangled deer isn’t all that disgusting.

“What the fuck,” he says. He shuffles up the bed until his back hits the frame, and I do my best to tuck my feet up as far away as I can get from it.

I still can’t look at it, burying my face in Sunday’s armpit instead. Which would be fine, if the smell wasn’t so far up my nose already.

I throw myself unceremoniously out of bed, desperate to get away from the scent of rot.

“You did this.” Delphine’s voice is firm as she speaks directly to Sunday.

“What gave it away?” he says dryly, looking at the mud streaked on his hands.

“It’ll only be a matter of time before it’s Bellamy splattered across the mattress,” Delphine seethes, launching across the room at Sunday.

As much as I don’t want to look at the carcass anymore, I also don’t really want Delphine trying to punch Sunday, either. It’s not the first time she’s tried, but it might be the first time it connects.

“I would never hurt him,” Sunday seethes back, getting out of the bed and towering over her. She’s even shorter than me.

“Ah, but what a lie that is. You have already done it once.” She doesn’t give him a chance to get a word in edgewise, tipping up her chin with undiluted rage. “I was the one who had to watch him cry himself to sleep every night. I was the one who had to coax him to eat his meals. So don’t you dare look me in the eye and tell me you would never hurt him. Because you did. And now, you are more capable than ever of hurting him beyond repair.”

I’ve never quite understood the expression silence is deafening until now.

His expression crumbles. “Maybe she’s right,” he rasps, hands tightening into fists at his sides.

“No. You would never physically hurt me. I know you wouldn’t,” I tell him firmly. It’s the truth. For all his hard exterior, Sunday is a gentle person. He always has been, and it’s clear that’s stayed a part of him.

With a tide of clarity comes forgiveness. I forgive him—for breaking us apart, for leaving me. I forgive myself, too. We both needed the opportunity to grow. While I would have preferred that we did it together, fate works in mysterious ways.