Page 131 of The Girl Who Should Be Dead

“He thought he had to do this to save the world, and he thought he would die because of it, and everyone cast him off. I offered to be his weapon,” Ambra switches gears. “I offered to do whatever he needs me to do, to defend him against whatever he wanted, to fight whatever battles, and do you know what he said?”

Alette remains silent.

“He said that people like him shouldn’t have weapons.” Ambra takes another heaving breath, and it hurts, so she slumps back against the chair. “I don’t think he likes himself enough to even begin to try to make himself look better.”

There’s a stretch, a pause of awkwardness, before Alette hands her a small bag of candy, brightly colored and covered with a reddish powder. At Ambra’s skeptical look, she says, “He told us you sometimes have issues with food. This’ll at least taste better and we can move onto better things once you get something in your system.”

That reeks of a deflection.

“We were worried that Gurlien might be trying to trick you,” Alette continues.

Ambra snorts, which is painful and sets her off coughing.

“But I’m glad to see that he’s been honest with you.”

“He’s been kind with me,” Ambra pushes, taking another sip of water. It doesn’t quite soothe the roughness of her throat or the ache in her chest, but it helps.

Another almost twitch of a smile, and Ambra’s not trying to be charming. She doesn’t want to be friends with this Alette, not if that’s their opinion of Gurlien, not if they locked him up for four days.

“I can’t believe Chloe let you lock him away,” Ambra grumbles, then tries one of the candies.

Immediately, her eyes water, and a salty sweet spice hits her tongue instead of the cloying sugar of the other candies she’s tried. It’s a hard candy, so the spice sticks with her, utterly amazing.

“She protested, but Gurlien was willing to do so if we got you medical help,” Alette says, not noticing or ignoring the miniature revelation Ambra’s having with the candy.

“And that didn’t give you the clue that maybe he really wanted to help me?” Ambra says finally, finishing that piece of candy and immediately digging out another one.

And here, Alette pauses. Actually pauses, like she’s evaluating Ambra, piecing through her, and it’s enough to make Ambra still, like she’s a bug under a microscope.

“We have secrets here that I have no doubt the College would do much worse and much weirder to obtain,” Alette says finally. “And I hope you finish with your quest so we can tell you. And here,” this time there’s a note of distaste in her words, as she places a small plastic bottle in Ambra’s free hand, with the words 5-Hour Energy on the side. “These are beyond gross, but they will help.”

Ambra eyes it, but it smells closer to the soda that Gurlien once gave her than anything bad.

“Drink it in one go, if you can, don’t sip it,” Alette instructs, her lips thin. “It’ll give you a jolt of energy, your heart might beat fast, but it will help rebuild yourself according to Mel.”

Ambra trusts that, at least, so she tilts her head back, shooting it.

It burns, and she coughs once, twisting her face.

Still, the door opens and in strides Axel, the same self-satisfied friendly smile on his face.

Ambra scowls at him.

“Less impressive when you’re in a hospital gown and a bullet hole in your chest,” he says easily, dragging another chair over to the other side of the bed.

“I want to see Gurlien when he wakes up,” she forces out, and her voice quavers. Of course it does.

“Are you going to kill him?” Axel asks, and Ambra gapes at him. “It’s a worthy question, he shot you, most demons aren’t that forgiving.”

“For fuck’s sake,” Ambra blurts out, and the force of it pulls at her wound, but both Axel and Alette grin at her words. “He didn’t mean to, he’s not a monster.”

Alette and Axel exchange a glance over her, and Ambra hates it.

“He told her about what happened with the line,” Alette says, and a sort of wordless understanding passes between them. “No glossing over what I can tell.”

Axel’s lips thin, but he nods, and they have a silent conversation, driving Ambra nuts.

“And that he wishes he could apologize but keeps messing it up,” Ambra says, and as one, both roll their eyes at her. “He’s a lot kinder than you were—”

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