Page 22 of The Devil May Care

The voice barely cuts through the quiet. I flinch, then laugh under my breath. “You scared me,” I say automatically, expecting George to answer with his usual offended chirp. But it isn’t him.

The man from the elevator stands in the doorway, half in shadow, sleeves rolled to the elbow. He looks the same—same tired eyes, same quiet intensity—but his reflection in the mirror behind him isn’t moving. How’d he get out? What happened to the other men? How did I make it back here? I must have been more tired than I thought. Wasn’t there a problem with the elevator?

“I thought you—” My throat tightens. “Are you okay?”

He doesn’t answer right away. His gaze sweeps the room, wary, like something might break through the walls at any second. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“What?” I say, half laughing, half confused. “This is my room.”

He shakes his head slowly. “No, Kay. You did not make it back.”

My pulse stutters. The air thickens, smells wrong—iron and ozone.

“That’s not funny.”

George lets out a sharp yowl. I look down, and the sheets beneath him are smoking. Wisps curl between my fingers when I reach for him, but my hand passes through his fur like static. The room ripples. The hum of the fridge deepens into a growl. The curtains glow red, as if the sunrise outside caught fire. Every breath tastes metallic.

“Wake up,” the man says again, voice splitting into two. Another tone bleeds through it, lower, familiar. The leather-clad man from the Wastelands? What are Wastelands? Caziel?

“Kay. Wake up.”

The shadows lunge. The air conditioner groans, bursting into sparks, and the floor drops out from under me—

—and I’m sitting bolt upright, gasping. The world around me blazes gold and crimson. The chamber walls pulse like veins of magma. The air is hot enough to sting. For a second, I still expect to smell detergent and dust. Instead: iron, smoke, the whisper of fire. My heart hammers against my ribs.

I’m not home.

I never was.

The world steadies, but the noise doesn’t stop. It lingers in my ears, faint, mechanical, like the buzz of an elevator motor slowing to a halt. For a moment, I swear I still hear his voice over the hum, the one that pulled me back from the fire.

Next time, don’t wait.

The words vanish like smoke when I blink, but the ache they leave behind doesn’t.

I don’t know how long I lie there, staring at nothing, listening to the silence breathe around me. There’s only so many times I can study the runes around the door—they look straight out of Tolkien or Norse mythology—or study the food in the corner—a sort of charcuterie board with absolutely nothing recognizable—or try to see what I recognize out of the open windows—they may not be barred, but they don’t like me lean out, and I see nothing beyond the haze of red glowing at me from outside. When the knock comes, I flinch. It’s soft. Threegentle taps. Too polite to be a warning. Too steady to be an accident. I sit up so fast my head swoops with the effort, black dots crashing through my vision.

“Yep,” I call out.

The door swings open and there is a woman standing there. Shorter than me by a few inches, hair and skin both an almost pearlescent ivory. Her hair tied back in a wrap matches the soft white and gray of her linen shift. Gray on gray on gray. She doesn’t have the impossible glow of the others I’ve seen. No shimmering aura. No sharpness to her cheekbones like they were chiseled from divine geometry. She looks normal. Human except Mr. Ember Heir said humans were rare. She is not Daemari. And she looks genuinely concerned.

“Oh, good,” she says, letting out a relieved little breath. “You’re not dead.” I blink. “You were just lying there,” she adds, stepping in with a bundle of folded fabric in her arms. “Not blinking. Barely breathing. Gave me the creeps.”

“Uh yeah,” I manage. “Sorry about that. I was… thinking?”

“Sure,” she says, dropping the bundle on the foot of the bed. “Just thinking. In total silence. For forty minutes. Like a lump of cursed bread.”

Despite myself, I huff a laugh.

“I’m Sarai,” she says. “You don’t have to remember it if you’re still in shock, I can remind you next time.”

“I’m Kay” I sit up straighter. “I thought names were sacred and private or something?”

She nods. “For some, yes, but I do not spark, and you have no mark so it’s harmless enough.”

I’m not sure if I’m supposed to be flattered or offended.

“Don’t worry.” She leans in like she is imparting state secrets. “I’m sure you’re fearsome, especially with your obsidian blade, but like I said, no magic so I’m not concerned.”