Page 130 of The Devil May Care

“You don’t have to lurk,” I say, just loud enough for him to hear.

He glances over. “I’m not lurking.”

“You’re lurk-adjacent.”

A faint twitch at the corner of his mouth. It might almost be a smile.

“I’m making sure you don’t pass out.”

“Bold of you to assume I’d do it somewhere convenient.”

This time the smile almost makes it all the way to his eyes, but then we both look back down, and I watch another contender walk out of the trial. Not a tear. Not a flicker of pain. I don’t know if it’s jealousy or something sharper, but my guts twist in a painful wrench.

I lower my voice. “Did they all… come out like that? Whole?”

Caziel doesn’t answer right away.

Then, a nod, “Most.”

“Well, that doesn’t bode well for me.” I force a laugh, but it’s weak, thready. “We already knew I was the weakest link.”

He shifts toward me, eyes flashing.

“You’re the only one who let it in.”

I swallow hard.

“What do you mean?”

It’s an uncharacteristic move, the way he drags his hand through his hair. He looks almost human. I want to ask him to drop the glamor is just shifts and twists, but I don’t.

“You told me it was going to show me memories. Sadness. Loss.” I swallow past a thick lump at the base of my throat. “I can’t be the only one here with a history.”

“It’s not that.” Caz shakes his head. “You…engaged…with the memory.”

“Was I not supposed to?”

Isn’t that the whole point of the trial? When I said I wasn’t staying, when I turned and left, that was when Obsidian let go.

“Most contenders dampen their feelings. They ignore the memory using magic or meditation. I’ve heard some plug their ears or blindfold themselves.”

“They what?” If Caz knew me better, he’d be worried about the flat pitch of my words. Because what the fuck does he mean the othersignorethe trial? Is that not cheating?

“It’s not cheating.” He says, raising a soothing hand like it will help, “but I thought you knew. It didn’t occur to me you’d…” he lets the sentence die. “Daemari are trained from birth to mute the influence of the threads, of the other realms.”

“Of feeling.” I counter, and he nods. “So, I’m the only idiot who almost got kidnapped by a sob story and a lie?”

That gets his attention.

“Stop.”

I blink. “What?”

“Stop doing that.”

He turns toward me, arms crossed, jaw tight.

“You faced what the Obsidian gave you without tools, without shielding, without tricks. And you are sitting here mourning that you did not come out looking polished enough for them.” His voice isn’t raised. But it’s not calm anymore either.