Page 19 of The Devil May Care

That’s the part I keep circling. The part that scares me just as much as it calms me.

Twice now. He’s intervened twice without hesitation. Without question. Not to win favor. Not to scold. Just to shield. And maybe that should unsettle me more than it does. Maybe relying on a stranger—one who may or may not be playing the long game—is reckless at best. But it’s all I have. I know better than to put my safety in the hands of someone else. I know better than to need someone to stand between me and a threat. But right now I’m alone in a world I don’t understand, surrounded by people who see me as a curiosity at best and vulnerable at worst. And Caziel is the only one who hasn’t tried to diminish me, yet.

So yes, it’s flawed logic.

Yes, I’ll probably regret it.

But for now, the only thing I know for sure is this:

He hasn’t hurt me. Yet. Which makes him my best option.

CHAPTER FIVE

KAY

The hallway twists again and narrows. I don’t bother tracking where we are—every wall looks like the last, and all of them pulse like the building itself has a heartbeat I can’t hear. I just feel it in my teeth. Caziel stops in front of an arched stone door. No guard. No handle. Just faint markings curled like smoke around the frame.

“This will be your room,” he says. “Wait here. Someone will come for you soon.”

“Great,” I say. “And when they do, will I be blindfolded, questioned, or gently escorted to my next holding cell?” He doesn’t react. “I’m kidding,” I shrug. “Mostly.”

I’m not.

“You speak of imprisonment often.”

“Yeah,” I say. “That’s a whole thing where I’m from.” He watches me. No judgment in his face—just quiet calculation. Like he’s trying to understand a dialect he hasn’t spoken in years. I sigh. “It happens a lot. People get arrested just for being in the wrong place. Or looking like they don’t belong. Or pissing off someone with more power.”

He goes still. Not the silent, poised stillness he always carries, but tight. Frozen. Like I’ve said something obscene.

“You cage your own people. For being out of place?”

I shrug, but it feels forced. “Sometimes. Sometimes worse.”

“That is not justice,” he says. Flatly. Quietly. Not a debate, an accusation.

“No,” I agree. “But it’s not about justice, or even safety. It is about control.”

He says nothing for a long moment. The air between us cools with disappointment. Not in me. In the idea.

“I thought your world would be better than the stories,” he murmurs.

I frown. “What stories?”

He looks up, eyes catching the soft glow of the nearest wall sconce. “The ones that made us your monsters.”

I stare at him.

“You think your myths of demons and devils came from nowhere?” he asks. “You gave us wings. Pitchforks. Fire. Names we never chose. You made us your cautionary tales.”

I blink. “You’re saying demons—like the ones in books, in religion—those came from you?”

“From whispers,” he says. “From doorways never meant to open. From Daemari who crossed over by accident or desperation. Your world took pieces of them and built nightmares.” My throat tightens. “But we do not imprison our people for looking strange,” he says. “We do not punish difference.”

I want to argue. Say my world’s not always like that. That some places are trying. That some people are good. But my chest is full of memories I have never been brave enough to name. Memories from the time after losing my parents when it became clear that I was a burden to the very system meant to protect me. So, I say nothing.

He gestures toward the door. “You will stay here for now. Not for control or punishment. For safety. Yours and ours.”

My heart kicks in my chest. Safety is the excuse in my world too.