Page 74

My hands shake as I grab one of the two towels a Politia officer grabbed for me earlier from my room. I wrap the towel around myself, then use the remaining one to wipe down my familiar.

My bones are weary. I ache in places that can’t be healed with ointment and a Band-Aid.

Once Nero and I are dry, we exit the communal bathroom. If there’s one silver lining from this whole shitty experience, it’s that I feel a deeper connection to my panther than ever before.

I guess trauma can do that.

Wearing only a towel, I head down to the second floor, where Sybil’s room is. Then I pause in front of her door, my hair still dripping. I glance down at Nero. My panther stares up at me. Maybe there’s something in my eyes, or maybe he can see my lower lip shaking—something it’s been doing on and off for several hours—but Nero rubs his head against my leg, then leans his body heavily against me.

I catch a sob in my throat and force it down at the show of protective affection from my normally distant familiar.

I run my hand down the side of his face and neck. Turning back to the door, I take a deep breath, and then I knock.

From the other side of the door, I hear Sybil groggily shout, “Go away!”

I want to say something snappy back, but it feels like my throat is lodged with cotton, and the words aren’t coming.

I wait for my friend to get up and answer the door. When she doesn’t, I knock again, this time more insistently.

I hear a groan. “Someone better have died for you to be waking me at this hour.” Sybil’s words carry through the wall.

I lean my forehead against her door. “They have.” My voice comes out softer and hoarser than I imagined. I close my eyes to fight off the images pressing forward in my mind.

There’s a long silence, and I almost think Sybil’s fallen back asleep when I hear the rustle of blankets.

Seconds after I straighten, the door swings open and a bleary-eyed Sybil is squinting at me.

“Selene,” she says, frowning, “what’s going on?”

Keep it together. Keep it together.

“It’s a long story,” I whisper. “Can Nero and I crash in your room for a few hours?”

“You never need to ask,” she says, grabbing my wrist and dragging me inside. She holds the door long enough for Nero to slink in behind me.

The window is open, and her familiar’s perch is empty. I let out a relieved breath at the sight; I don’t want to be dealing with my familiar trying to eat her familiar on top of everything else.

“Need some clothes?” she asks.

“Please,” I say as, next to me, Nero noses the plants that seem to explode from every nook and cranny of my friend’s room.

Sybil riffles through her dresser before pulling out stretchy pants and a T-shirt.

I remove my towel and hang it up, then tug on the clothes. They’re soft and smell like my friend, and once I have them on, I collapse onto her bed.

Sybil comes to the other side of her mattress. “Scooch,” she says, nudging me over.

I crawl under the covers of her bed, making myself at home in my friend’s room as I have so many other times before. Nero comes to my side before lying down on the floor next to me. Sybil slips under the covers.

After a moment, she runs her fingers through my hair. “Are you okay, babe?” she asks softly.

I shake my head.

“Want to talk about it?”

A ragged breath leaves me.

“No,” I admit.