Page 135 of The Girl Who Should Be Dead

He catches her hand, gentle, and there’s a moment of silence. Of stunned peace, where Ambra’s ears ring and her lungs rattle, but there’s no other sound besides the soft whir of the air recycling around them and the wind creaking against the windows.

Before his lips part, like he can’t believe the world in front of him.

“I’m sorry,” he says, the words falling from him, almost too fast for Ambra to hear them. “You trusted me and I shot you.”

It’s so laughable, so far separate from the terror of Boltiex and the pain from the leash, but the edges of the wound pull at her, so she just blinks up at the familiar ceiling.

Boltiex will try again, and he’s not going to give themwarning. Going to wait until they’re asleep, wait until she can’t fight back, then take her.

“I don’t care,” she informs him, after another stretch of silence, then coughs, her throat ragged. “You’re okay?”

His face tight, he nods.

“They shouldn’t have locked you away,” Ambra mumbles. “You distracted her, I killed her, anything else is detail.”

He blinks, rapidly behind his glasses, before he bends over, pressing his forehead against her hand, still held in his. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“Stop,” Ambra rasps out, but still she leans over as much as she can, wound be damned, until she can tilt her head against his, smushing his blond hair against her cheek.

He doesn’t move, his breathing a bit ragged, and Ambra knows he just woke up. Probably disoriented and exhausted. He’s been locked up, away from his friends, no way to defend himself.

“I didn’t mean to,” he repeats.

“Do you really think I’m mad about that?” she asks, and a whisper of Boltiex’s awareness winds its way into her, and Gurlien tightens his hand on the leash in response until he vanishes.

“I shot you,” he repeats.

She nudges his hand until he raises his head and looks at her, actually looks at her.

Deep purple circles rim his eyes, and the collar of his sleep shirt is a bit ragged.

She knows she doesn’t look much better, with the bandage seeping with black blood and who knows the stage of her hair, but she locks eyes with him and keeps it.

It feels like some sort of challenge.

A million emotions flicker over his face, something shecan only pray to keep up with, but still, she holds herself as motionless as possible.

“I’m not angry,” she states, then amends, “at you.”

His jaw tightens, like he’s actually about to fight her on that.

“You distracted her enough that I killed her,” she points out, as she had to be reminded of it. “Then got me help. Who would be mad at that?”

“Many people,” he repeats, and finally, there’s something close to amusement filtering into his expression. “If they didn’t press charges, most people would cut someone out for, you know, actively harming them.”

“That’s ridiculous,” she informs him, and gets rewarded with a small smile, like he can’t believe what she’s saying. “If you had meant to hurt me, sure.” She takes another breath, experimental, and it hurts.

He watches her breathe for a few moments, as if he’s counting the seconds between the rise and fall of her chest. Idle, his fingers play with the leash on his wrist, a welcome sensation.

“They shouldn’t have locked you up,” she repeats, after the pain of her motion recedes like a wave. “You were trying to help and they treated you like shit.”

His lips twist, something between amusement and loathing. “I showed up with a woman bleeding from a gunshot wound from my bespelled gun, that is suspicious as hell,” he says, but he settles on the bed next to her. “They put me in an extra apartment. I had books and a stove and Chloe brought my cat, I was fine.”

It’s a little softer than what she had imagined.

“I’m glad Chloe was with you,” Ambra says.

“Yeah, she…” Gurlien trails off, and for a split second she sees sadness on his face, some other form of loss.

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