Page 59 of The Girl Who Should Be Dead

With another sleepy sound, Gurlien rolls over, flopping his arm over her midsection.

She freezes.

But he just makes a contented noise deep in the back of his throat before his breathing settles out again, regular, tugging her in close.

His chest against her back is warm, almost obsessively so, and she can feel each crest of his breath, and if she imagines hard, hear each beat of his heart. His arm is heavy, not restrictive, not holding her down, but rather some sort of protectant.

Like just this touch is to keep her safe.

Ambra stays still, barely letting herself breathe, for as long as she can.

15

Ambra shivers herself awake, and the bed is empty.

No other breathing person, no weight against her waist, nothing to keep her down against the bed.

Just chills and the expanse of the room in front of her, pointing her towards the door.

Light spills across the hardwood floor from the windows, giant and shining, and the dim roar of the morning traffic reaches even this far up.

Her heart hammers, jumping into her throat, before the whisper soft turn of a piece of paper kicks the rest of her brain into action.

She jolts upright, twisting, and Gurlien sits hunched over a scroll, propping himself up on the desk, fingers tracing along the aged page.

He’s wearing another one of the nice shirts, this one a beautiful deep maroon, darker than the color of blood. It draws the morning sun to his face, filling color in his skin, until he’s almost pristine with perfection.

Ambra swallows, reaching up and touching the shavedside of her head. It’s still prickly, but softer somehow against her palm.

“Good morning,” Gurlien mutters. “You sleep hard.”

Her mouth is dry, so she pulls herself up to the kitchen, filling the glass with water again, her heart hammering.

“Nalissa has an event in a week,” Gurlien continues, and she almost drops the cup. “Some sort of show she’s putting on, some sort of concert in the catacombs. Loose protections, tons of public, very few magical staff.”

She stares at him across the room. “How long have you been awake?”

He stretches, drawing more of her attention. “Hour and a half? Either we need to get a coffee maker for this place or we should go to a coffee shop.”

She stares at the glass of water, before taking a large gulp. Her skin feels gross, like the emotions somehow washed all over her from the night before and left their residue in the physical.

“A week?” she asks again, and her voice is small, unfortunately so.

“One week,” he confirms. “She’ll be out of her enclave, out from her protections, and surrounded by people.”

It’s officially too much of a good opportunity and too much for her to comprehend at the moment, so she grabs a change of clothes and marches over to the shower.

Once clean, her hair actually combed, and once dressed in a stretchy soft shirt that hugs the body, she deigns to follow Gurlien down the elevator and into the lobby of the building. He carries a heavy wool coat she saw him buy, and bullies her into carrying at least another sweater.

A few people stare at her tinted glasses and bright orange ear plugs, but Gurlien ignores them, instead striding straight out into the city.

Even with the ear protection, a wall of noise buffers against Ambra, but she blinks through it, letting her attention focus more on the cutting wind and the frigid air slicing against her skin.

Thankfully, Gurlien doesn’t speak, just lets her have the moment, before nodding and forging on. It’s a short walk to the small shop, and it’s full of people and bustling workers dressed in black.

“The noise will die down in approximately ten minutes,” Gurlien mutters to her, and despite everything, despite the volume and the earplugs, if she’s standing next to him, she can hear him perfectly. “This is just a rush around the start of business hours.”

“That’s good,” she mutters back, casting a glance behind her at the person who stepped way too close, but they don’t notice, and after the night before her heart jumps.

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