Page 126 of The Girl Who Should Be Dead

And there are only two necromancers active right now, and both of them know Gurlien.

“Where…” she trails off, her mouth too dry, the air from the mask too forced.

“I am absolutely not telling you where we are,” the man says, scowling. “You’re not going to be hurt, we just needed to put in an IV.” Then, his face softening just minutely. “You were unconscious for four days.”

She blinks up at him, then towards the door. Four days is too long, Gurlien could be hurt, Boltiex could be trying to hurt him, trying to reclaim her.

“I’m the Mel that’s been texting you,” the man continues, more begrudging than not. “The necromancers aren’t here. I’m not going to let you see either of them.”

Ambra stills, his words filtering in her mind, before she swallows.

Even that is like glass.

“Right now, all you need to know is that you’re safe, and if you keep on panicking, you’re going to rip yourself open again.”

The door clatters open, and Chloe rushes in, her eyes wide and hair mussed up, the Half Demon behind her.

“Oh my god, you’re awake,” Chloe blurts out, rushing over and grabbing Ambra’s untied hand. “Are you okay, how do you feel, are—”

Ambra flinches away from her grip, and Chloe gapes at her.

The Half Demon runs a scan on her, some sort of flashassessment, and Ambra bristles. He’s not stepping inside the demon trap, very obviously so.

“You’re doing better,” he says, matter-of-factly, and Ambra vividly remembers their clash of powers in the bar, how he almost won that fight.

And now she’s helpless. Every breath is difficult, her arm is pinned down so thoroughly she can’t do a single thing, and all the magic slips from her.

The two men exchange a glance at her obvious attempt at grasping power.

“How are you feeling?” the Half Demon says finally, as Chloe stands, pale, to one side.

Ambra tries to speak, tries to say something, but coughs instead, her mouth too dry.

“Can we remove the mask?” Chloe asks, small. “She’s trying to talk, but it’s stopping her.”

Which is entirely accurate, but being talked like she’s not there just bristles something inside of her even more.

“I don’t want to until Delina or Lyra give approval,” the man—Mel—says. “Last thing I want to do is to upset Lyra with more pain.”

Ambra blinks at him. If he’s the one who’s texting her, if he has some sort of demon past, now in this human body, he might understand her. Might understand the need clawing at her throat, the panic at not being able to know anything about Gurlien.

“Are you thirsty?” Chloe asks, and her voice is still small, such a big contrast with the last time they spoke. Unfitting for an alchemist of her power. “You’re probably starving.”

Her stomach is the least of Ambra’s worries.

“Where is he?” She croaks out, muffled against the mask held so tightly to her face.

Chloe glances up at the Half Demon—Maison, his nameis Maison—and a pool of dread starts in Ambra’s stomach.

“Is he okay?” she asks, and even she can’t hear her voice properly. “Is he…”

“We’re holding Gurlien downstairs,” Maison says firmly, and Ambra gapes at him. “He’s completely untouched.”

Holding, like some sort of prisoner?

Ambra glares up at Chloe, like she could will her to understand her. Chloe’s supposed to be on Gurlien’s side in all of this, his one true friend, and she let this group put him in some sort of holding cell?

Chloe pales, but doesn’t shrink back.

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