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I may or may not have been trying to find Roger other friends… he didn’t like any of them.

“It’s not, I swear!” I say.

Felix gives me a face like he doesn’t believe me. So, to prove my innocence, I hold the sweater out to him and smile proudly.

“What is this?” he says, putting down the knife and walking toward me as he sucks the strawberry juice from his finger. It’s sexy as hell, even though he isn’t meaning for it to be.

“I made my friend a sweater.” Felix takes it, running his fingers over the soft, thick material. Then he turns it over, and frowns.

“Really, Zia? You made Roger a lime green and black sweater with the words ALIEN across the back?”

“It’s a joke! Friends have jokes!”

“It’s not a joke if it can be offensive, or one of the friends doesn’t understand it.”

“Well you didn’t say that part!” I argue.

Felix holds my gaze, then starts laughing. He throws his arms around me, hugging me to him.

“This was very sweet of you. I’m sure Roger will love it.”

“I made it extra big to fit his belly,” I say.

“He’ll appreciate that.”

Felix kisses my head, then goes back to finishing our snack. While he does that, I pop into the bedroom to check on my friend. He’s curled up in a ball, sleeping on the bed. Felix was worried about him freaking out and jumping ship, but he won’t even go upstairs. He’s too much of a scaredy cat to be an alien, I realized. Aliens are warriors. They travel and pillage and kill. This cat can hardly walk, let alone run, and he’s afraid of his own shadow half the time.

He peeks an eye open, staring right at me, as if he knows I’m thinking about him. We hold eye contact, and I wonder… maybe his plan all along was to gain my trust.

Felix

Narrowing my eyes, I watch Valek trek back to his truck, whistling to himself while he smiles.

Bullshit.

Ever since he ferried us to Gustavus—the way humans don’t go because it’s basically a death trap and impossible—I’ve been suspicious of him.

Why?

I don’t have a fucking clue but I think the guy is as fake as they come. Right down to the weird shade of his irises. I think Valek isn’t who he says he is despite the amount of good he does.

He runs the safe haven here. Quies Otium, or Latin for Quiet Repose. It’s small right now, it doesn’t seem like many of us make it this far after they leave Purgatory or Hell, but every few weeks, Valek has maybe one or two new residents to settle into a nearby house.

You’d think after almost four months I’d be less suspicious of him. I’ve never seen him do anything except be helpful, but I can’t shake the feeling that Valek isn’t what he seems. Especially since he was working in Hell for so long.

Squinting against the darkness, I step right up to the window, parting the curtains wider while I continue watching him unload our packages.

More shit Zia ordered, no doubt.

That makes me smile.

I didn’t expect the unstable murderous demon to have such a knack with making a home. Especially after never having the opportunity to try before, but Azizia has turned our slice of Quies Otium into a cozy, secluded little home for us, and I’m really proud of her for it.

We’ve adjusted rather well, if I do say so myself.

Valek set us up in a nice little two bedroom cabin, a simple house that had the bare minimum of what we needed to get us on our feet, and since then, we’ve worked to make this space ours.

I was able to put my skills to use. Both the skills I obtained centuries ago, like chopping wood and hunting game, and the skills I acquired from living up top.