Page 127 of The Girl Who Should Be Dead

“He shot you,” Mel, the other not-demon, drawls. “He shot you then brought a demon to a controlled facility with wanted necromancers. We’re not going to let him run away.”

It’s entirely inaccurate, and Ambra wishes she could laugh, but with the mask and her throat, she doubts she could.

She shakes her head, and the three exchange a look above her.

“Ambra,” Chloe starts, gentle, “you were shot by his gun, and it punctured your lung and broke your clavicle. A gun I told him would hurt you.”

“You’re not dead only because you heal,” Mel says, clipped. “You almost died three times in the last few days.”

But it was Nalissa who pulled her to block the bullet, and there would have been no way for Gurlien to predict that and they can’t seriously be thinking it was intentional…

By the grim expression on their faces, they think it might be.

Ambra struggles to pull herself upright, and Chloe rushes to her, guiding her back against the cot.

“Here,” Chloe says, pressing a button on the side of the mattress, and the head tilts upright until Ambra’s in analmost sitting position, her wrist moving with her. “This’ll be easier.”

The position stretches at the pain in her chest. There’s a white bandage over her breastbone, stark, and Ambra’s just covered by a papery medical gown.

She wants to burn all medical gowns.

Instead, she lifts her free hand to the edge of the bandages, and the pain echoes at the touch.

“He…” she trails off, swallowing, before she scowls at Chloe, shaking her head and trying to peel the mask off her face.

It doesn’t move, held down by straps on the back of her head, straps she can’t reach, and even that effort winds her, leaving her panting into the mask.

“We should get Delina in here,” the Half Demon murmurs. “See if she can speak without danger.”

“We shouldn’t do that while she’s awake,” Mel shoots back.

Chloe and Ambra make eye contact at that, at the frustration and incompleteness of the communication, and that seems to solidify something inside Chloe.

She stands up straighter, still close to Ambra, but even that motion is enough to draw their attention.

“Ambra, I’m going to ask you some questions, just shake your head yes or no,” Chloe says, and a rush of gratitude floods through Ambra. “Are you going to hurt Gurlien?”

That’s easy, and Ambra scrunches her face under the mask as she shakes her head no.

“No demon is going to answer that honestly,” Mel mutters.

“Shut up,” Chloe says with a scowl. “Did he mean to hurt you?”

Again, Ambra shakes her head no, and Chloe gestures ather, as if that’s the proof she needed in the argument.

“But it was his gun,” Maison says, and Ambra nods yes. Because of course it is.

And that’s not what matters, not really, and the idea of Gurlien just sitting there, probably worried, makes her jerk her arm again.

“You will say anything to get out of this right now, wouldn’t you?” Mel says, voice low, and she scowls at him from beyond the mask. “Do you want us to drug you so one of the Necromancers can come in and scan you, or do you want us to wait until you’re asleep?”

Ambra stills, a flutter of fear welling up inside of her again.

“Because I won’t trust your word on this until I hear you say it, without knowing the story Gurlien told,” Mel continues, and he’s entirely correct. “And I’m not letting you out from the wrist tie, not this near to Necromancers, until I know for a fact that Gurlien isn’t going to use you as a weapon against them.”

“He wouldn’t,” Chloe mutters, dark, and Ambra likes her a bit more at that tone.

“You don’t think he would,” Mel shoots back, and Maison rubs his face, like he’s had to hear this argument several times in the last few days and is tired of it.

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