Page 114 of The Girl Who Only Died Once

Of course she sleeps.Of course.

Of course, after just a few minutes of furiously ignoring him and her heart, she slips away into blissful unconsciousness and doesn’t open her eyes until the weak winter sun shines through the blinds.

Of course.

Of course her body decided, beyond her control, to believe in safety the moment she has an actual fucking demon at her back.

And now the demon breathes, slow and steady, next to her, the barest hint of a rasp of a snore in the sound, his hand still resting lightly on her bruised rib.

Of course.

Moving as slow as she can, Chloe slides out from underneath his touch, and he doesn’t wake.

The handsome face of the dead guard is squished into the pillow next to her, the brown black curls sticking straight up, rumpled and normal.

So normal it almost gives her pause.

Almost.

Chloe slips on her socks, each motion as quiet as she can make it, before padding into the small kitchen.

And directly into the glare of the twelve-year-old.

Chloe freezes, like she’s been caught doing something she shouldn’t.

Seanna stares at her, flat, then pokes her head around to see where Killian still lays, his face smushed into the pillow, before leaning back in. Careful, she lifts a finger to her lips, then taps her hand on a rune carved into the doorjamb.

A silence rune.

All at once, the soft sound of the almost-snore drops out of her hearing, leaving just the noise of the kitchen.

“He thinks that I haven’t figured out how to do that yet,” she says, almost surly, crossing her arms over her chest. “Don’t tell him.”

“Understood,” Chloe says, a little thread of amusement worming its way through the sudden sensation she’s in trouble. She sticks her hand out, giving the twelve-year-old the widest smile she can muster. “Hi, I’m Chloe.”

The girl leans back, openly and hilariously skeptical.

She’s rather normal appearing, with mousy brown hair bundled up in a scrunchie and a neon green shirt that’s a few shades too bright for her complexion.

“Killian doesn’t bring people back, and now you’ve been here twice,” she says instead, ignoring Chloe’s hand and turning to the meager stove. “He doesn’t want me talking to you.”

“I gathered that,” Chloe says, and the twelve-year-old scowls at her, before filling the kettle and placing it on the stove with very little grace, the sort of motions of a child who hasn’t ever been taught, just observed. “To be fair, I had absolutely been arrested twice by the time I was your age.”

Again, with the skeptical look, and Chloe grins with her, propping herself up to sit on the counter.

“He also gets scared when he has to interact with anyone who’s not me, so I don’t know how he could sleep with you all night,” Seanna says, and Chloe barely maintains a straight face at that.

She’s seen him in fear too many times, seen the terror cross his face in those brief moments before he schools his expression.

“And no magician is supposed to know I’m here,” Seanna continues. “So why are you here?”

Chloe glances back to the doorframe, to where Killian still sleeps, oblivious to the conversation.

“If it helps, I’m not part of the college,” Chloe says, and the girl's eyes widen. “I got kicked out almost eight years ago, so I’m not affiliated with them in any way.”

“I thought you couldn’t do magic without being a part of them?” she asks, and there’s something shrewd in her question. Like she already knows the answer and is quizzing Chloe instead.

“They just don’t like it,” Chloe replies, and while dealing with children has never been her strongest suit, this kid’s open skepticism of everything she’s saying tickles her. “But totally possible.”

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