Page 83 of The Devil May Care

Probably Caziel. Of course.

Now even the air mocks me.

I exhale through my nose. The silence presses closer. Then—CRASH.

I bolt upright so fast I almost roll off the bed. Another sound—a thud, followed by a screech. Sharp. Familiar. Yowling. It’s wild. Feral. Offended. I freeze.

That can’t be—

Another shriek. The unmistakable sound of claws meeting furniture.

“MrrreeEOOOOOw!”

My brain short-circuits.

No.

No way.

I stumble into the main room, barefoot and wide-eyed. Sure I’m hallucinatin, but there he is. George. Pacing the length of the sofa like he owns it, tail bottle-brushed, eyes wide, yowling like a banshee. His orange fur’s a mess. One ear—the one missing a chunk out of the tip—is sideways. He’s already knocked over a decorative bowl of what might be magically polished stones. He turns. Sees me. And screams louder.

“GEORGE?!

He leaps off the couch. Straight into my arms. Claws extended, limbs splayed, vibrating with outrage. He bites my shoulder and purrs at the same time. I collapse to my knees on the rug, cradling his drama-queen body against my chest, tears spilling freely down my cheeks.

“I thought—oh my god—I thought you were gone.”

He headbutts my chin and grumbles at me while I laugh. Messy, hiccuping, ridiculous laughter. He’s here. He’s real.

Behind me, the door shifts. I glance up. Caziel stands in the archway, cloak half-unfastened, expression unreadable. He looks like he’s been run through the dryer a few times. Deliciously rumpled. His hair sticks up at odd angles like he’s been running a sweaty hand through it. A hand that is… bandaged? I blink, still on the floor, George climbing up my shoulder like a tree.

“You?”

Caziel nods once.

I don’t have words. Just a heartbeat loud in my chest and the feeling of something I didn’t know I needed until this exact second: Someone showing up for me. Not with promises. With proof.

George is purring and growling at the same time. His tail whips my cheek as he rearranges himself on my lap like royalty returning to his throne. He smells like dust and bad decisions. I’m still kneeling on the floor, too overwhelmed to move. The weight of him—the realness—makes my chest ache. Caziel stands a few feet away, watching us both like we’re some volatile magical experiment.

“You really brought him back,” I say again.

He nods once. “Yes.”

I wait for more. A how. A why. A something. It doesn’t come.

“Seriously?” I prod. “You’re just going to leave it at that?”

He doesn’t blink. “Yes.

I narrow my eyes. “You’re not going to tell me how.”

“I am not.”

“And I’m just supposed to be okay with that.”

“You’re not injured. Neither is the cat. That is enough.”

“Could I—?” Go back the same way?