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“I highly doubt AI allows a pig to legally get taken by a?—“

"Stop trying to ruin lunch!”

"What?” I fell into step beside her. “I’m just doing my job.”

“Walk behind me then, not next to me.”

“No.”

"Fine. Walk ahead of me then.”

“Again, nice, see what I did there? Using nice? Try. But no.”

“Eat shit and die.”

“Maybe once this job is done.”

She stopped dead in her tracks. “That’s not funny.”

It hit me. That line right there. It bothered her. My death somehow triggered her? “Why would you care anyway? Let’s go.”

I felt it, though. The slow burn. The ache that the thought brought to my chest.

Like that very shallow grave I was already digging myself the longer I stayed next to her. It made my heart feel something—warm, I think—that she didn’t like the idea of me being in the cold hard ground.

Too bad she’d soon be disappointed.

My line of work wasn’t conducive with life.

She didn’t know it yet, but my only reason for living.

From here on out.

Was her.

Raven Alfero.

9

RAVEN

The one with the fruit snacks.

He was a menace to society.

A warning sign wouldn’t be enough for him.

And I was coming to almost hate him the more he distracted me from the pain I felt every time I walked by places Louis and I used to visit, the stupid common area included—which is why I chose to sit outside on the picnic bench farthest away from the tree we used to sit under.

We’d been sitting outside he mess hall, and he scared away at least seven people—one of them was a professor. The poor woman started crying, and she was used to our kind around here.

He was dressed like a fallen angel who decided that rather than jumping he’d just burn his wings and sacrifice his soul. Succubus core energy. At least that was the reaction the girls were giving him, like they were one intense stare away from getting screwed against the tree screaming his name.

What? Did they not see how angry he was all the time? It didn’t matter that he looked like a god—he was the devil himself.

I threw my empty diet coke bottle at his head. He caught it midair. “What? Why are you throwing things?”

“Sit.” I pointed at the bench. “Eat. You’re driving me crazy, and it’s not even dinnertime yet. When you’re not glaring, you’re pacing or threatening or spouting insults. Can’t you just put food in your mouth, chew, and swallow like a normal person?”