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Cas and I don’t move, still in a tangle together on the ground, far enough away that we haven’t drawn notice. He strokes a hand up and down my arm even as he keeps his eyes fixed on the unfolding mayhem, a gentle, soothing touch that calms some of the adrenaline and fear coursing through my veins.

Cas could have been killed.

I mean, shit, I could have been killed, too, but somehow that hasn’t really registered yet as I lean into Cas’s touch.

He rests his forehead against mine, but before he can say anything, we’re interrupted by a pair of approaching footsteps.

“Are you alright?”

Still a little bleary-eyed, I look up to meet a pair of concerned amber eyes.

“Fine,” I tell Audra. “I’m fine.”

She nods, then glances over at the ensuing chaos, the flashing police lights and gathering crowd.

“Audra,” I say, drawing her attention back to me. “Fucking bury him.”

A grin—sharp and satisfied—breaks across her face. “Oh, I fully intend to.”

She dashes off to cover the scene, and it saps the last bit of adrenaline from me, knowing she’s more than got it covered.Derham and Haverstad are dealt with, Audra’s story will likely be breaking with the morning papers, and Cas and my part in all of it is done.

Like he can feel that energy waning, Cas squeezes my hand. He gets to his feet and helps me up after him.

“Enough. Enough for now. I’m taking you home.” He turns to Serra. “You’re alright?”

“Never better,” she says with a crooked grin. “Though the next time you want to invite me to stake out a gun fight, maybe just… don’t.”

The three of us stick to the darkness as we make our exit, still out of sight of the police descending on the graveyard and definitely not in the mood to stick around and be roped into giving our statements.

Cas stays close to my side, arm around my shoulder, and I can’t pretend for a moment that I don’t like having his strength there, next to me. I let myself lean into his support, savor it, though that sense of comfort only lasts a couple of seconds.

Just as we step out of the graveyard and onto the sidewalk beyond, a figure materializes from the shadows.

“Casimir,” Philippe says with a flint-edged smile. “Ophelia. What a lovely coincidence to run into you here.”

34

Casimir

I’m hardly surprised to see Philippe in the midst of the rest of this night’s chaos.

Maybe it’s the lingering effects of nearly being shot, or the brewing storm of emotion I haven’t let myself feel yet—the conversation I need to have with Ophelia about precisely what madness made her put herself in front of a bullet for me—but somehow seeing him here hardly registers as abnormal, given everything else that’s happened.

“What do you want?”

Philippe takes in the look on my face and the arm I have wrapped around Ophelia, but his eyes flick away a moment later.

He pulls a small flash drive out of the inner pocket of his coat.

“You’re in touch with the journalist who’s here tonight?” he asks, and it’s one more thing I shouldn’t be surprised about, that he’s aware of Audra’s involvement.

“And if we are?”

“Then I would ask you to make sure she receives this.” He offers the drive to Ophelia.

“What is it?”

“Evidence,” he says with a casual shrug. “Information on the other two people Haverstad paid to lie about being attacked. Photos and bank statements and communications to corroborate their stories.”