Page 137 of The Girl Who Inherits the Dead

Chloe also crouches down, then shakes her head sadly. “I can’t even see anything. No magical trace, nothing.”

“Do you want me to drag it out?” Delina asks dryly, and Chloe’s nodding but Maison’s shaking his head before she can actually do anything. “Maybe after we sleep.”

It still buzzes against her mind, but they all uneasily put it aside, dividing up the bread and peanut butter for a meager meal, before a quick but vicious argument of who’s sleeping where before—full of suspicion and full of unrest—they all attempt to sleep.

Delina wakes,far earlier than she would want, to Maison shifting next to her, sitting up.

The two of them had pulled the short end of the stick, sleeping on the plush carpet instead of the twin bed, but she just blinks her eyes open as he straightens, his breathing light.

The sun filters through the planks in the walls, warming the air around them, and dust motes hang still around them, settling into the Maison’s hair.

He’s still, inhumanly so, before he carefully slides out from under the makeshift blanket, rolling himself to his feet.

Delina’s lips part, but she stills herself from saying anything, as he scans the room, his eyes red, before he carefully, ever so carefully, pulls on his jacket.

He’s moving as if he thinks that any sudden motion would draw attention to them. As if he has to in order to remain undetected.

He glances down at her, visibly startling at her open eyes, before he holds a finger up to his lips, then gestures for her to remain in place.

Delina rolls her eyes at him, sitting up as quietly as she can, and he rolls his eyes right back, before mouthing, “Stay here.”

She props herself up to standing, just as quiet as he is.

There’s no motion in the shack, not even the breath of the wind that had plagued them for most of the night, and Chloe and Gurlien sleep on, though the cat blinks idly at them from his place draped over Chloe’s back.

Maison tilts his head at her, and Delina lifts her chin.

“There’s someone outside,” he breathes, leaning close enough that her heart jumps, close enough so the fabric of his jacket grazes her chest. “They’re not approaching, they’re not fighting, but someone’s there.”

Instinctively, Delina glances towards the slats in the wall, but it’s too thin of a slice to see out of.

“I’m going to try to get a better look,” he whispers, and his hand falls to her elbow, steadying her. “Stay out of sight.”

Delina nods, though she raises an eyebrow right back at him, and he grimaces at her expression, before stepping silently towards the wall, towards the dust encrusted window mostly covered up by particle boards. He leans against the wall, next to the glass, tilting himself towards the line of sight, smooth and fluid.

It’s a motion she recognizes at once. Anytime they went somewhere new, anytime they went over to someone’s house,he’d position himself near the window, facing the room but casually able to glance out.

Yet another bit of him that she thought was an odd quirk but it's really him protecting her.

His shoulders are tight, but his face remains impassive, like he’s just woken up and just wanting to look around. Like this is nothing.

She watches in fascination as Maison’s jaw works, as if he’s somehow talking without making any noise.

Though his face is serious, it’s not afraid, so she creeps up next to him, peering out.

Among the crunchy dry snow and dead cornfield, stands a woman, staring unblinkingly at them.

She’s striking, with short white-blond hair and pale eyes, like someone took her and sapped all the color from her, and the very ground around her swirls with some strange energy.

The colorless eyes snap onto Delina, and she raises her chin, mouthing something that Delina can’t hear, but Maison hisses out a breath.

Even from this distance, the crawling sensation of intense pain washes over Delina, her stomach dropping.

This woman shouldn’t even be alive, and Delina can tell with just a glance.

Still, she doesn’t move closer to the house, just evaluating Delina, before she vanishes.

There’s another moment, where Maison still stares out the window, before he exhales, letting himself shift away from the window.

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