Page 137 of The Girl Who Only Died Once

All because she died.

If she hadn’t died, if she hadn’t begged for it and to be brought back, then none of the last few weeks would’ve happened. She wouldn’t have been stuck in the old cabin, a stark reminder of what she had lost in such a short time. She never would’ve been knocked out deep underground. She never wouldhave killed a demon, killed an actual demon, someone who had a name that she didn’t know and had a home they counted as their own.

Would’ve never encountered Stella again, seen the hollows of her cheeks start to fill in. Would’ve never seen Michelli, never learned her name, never promised to help with whatever other issues the Wights had in their pockets, whatever that promise meant, however it’ll shape her future.

Her best friend would be talking to her still. Her best friend would be completely happy to pick up her texts, to discuss all these obscure theorems, everything. Would be enthusiastic in figuring out the puzzles, not pretending she doesn’t exist.

She never would’ve shot at Killian—would probably not be aware of his existence. Would not have gone into a hotel with him, would not have slept in his house in his bed, would not have made a cup of noodles with his surrogate daughter. Would not have seen the fear flicker over his face, would never have felt the soft touch of his hand in hers, wouldn’t have been held from falling by the touch at the small of her back.

Would have never gotten herded into a little booth at a tiny diner after he evaluated the food handling capabilities of the hotel. Would’ve never been held behind a demon bubble, would’ve never been kissed so softly in the dark of the night, would’ve never had anyone place such trust in her to reveal things that could put his very species at risk.

Chloe sits, hard, on the cold concrete floor, before picking herself up and stumbling to the single couch, burying her hands in her hair.

All of this happened because she died. Because she begged to be killed, all for the convenience of finding the spirit fox.

The weight of it sags against her like the middle of the couch, creaking against the springs of her soul. That just by that onequery, that one half-assed plan that she was convinced would work, all of this happened.

A whisper of air flits against her cheek, and without even looking up, she knows that Killian is back. That the air he displaced made its way to her so easily.

There’s an inhale before he’s next to her, and she can smell a completely normal burger in the paper bag as he sets it close.

“Chloe?” he asks, soft, and the same undercurrent of fear is there as well, the same undercurrent she would’ve never been aware of.

“I’m okay,” she mumbles out, and she’s clearly not.

He makes a sound deep in his chest, before he throws his arm around her, solid, so solid she can’t believe she wouldn’t have seen him before.

If she hadn’t died.

“Well,” Killian drawls, and it’s so heartbreakingly normal, heartbreaking because she never would’ve heard him before, and now she has a catalog of his tones, a reference of all the ways he speaks, ones that can fit so neatly into her mind that she can’t comprehend a world without it. “This isn’t what okay usually looks like.”

It makes her shoulders hitch up, and his hand comes up, rubbing between her shoulder blades.

For a horrifying second, she thinks he’s going to make her explain this. Make her put into words all of the turmoil bubbling inside her, all the crushing weight that she so closely almost missed this, but he just tugs her closer, leaning his cheek against the top of her head.

And despite all the urgency, despite the quickly cooling burger in the crumpled paper bag next to her feet, he holds her, until her shoulders stop shaking and her face is wet, but her head is lighter.

As if sensing the turn in her, he presses a kiss to the top of her hair, gentler than she deserves.

“I died,” Chloe mumbles out, instead of anything intelligent and clever. “I died and came back and all of this is because of that.”

He doesn’t say anything, just strokes her black hair back away from her face.

“Of course my friends are angry, I died. I volunteered for that.” The words bubble out from her, almost incoherent. “Of course I can’t sleep. Of course I see random magic. Of course everything is different.”

Still nothing, and it itches at her, on whether or not it’s acceptance or judgment, so she pulls back, scrubbing at her eyes so she can see him.

“I just…”

“Everything hit you?” he asks, and his true face, the one behind the handsome guard’s, is soft with something close to understanding. “When after one action, everything changed, and you’ve been just going as if nothing happened, until it hit you?”

It’s about as close to it as possible, so she nods.

“Where you can just look back at that choice and marvel at what might’ve happened if you had done any one step differently?” Gentle, he takes her face in his hands, cradling her chin. “I’ve been wondering that every day since you shrugged off my sleeping spell back in that tunnel. Wondering what had stayed my hand from just eliminating you, wondering why I rooted around for your home in your mind, wondering why I didn’t just stop a rival at the spot.”

She manages a watery smile, but he doesn’t match it.

“I don’t know what I would’ve done if you weren’t here.” He drops that sentence as if it weighs nothing to him. “I would’ve died trapped in the base in Minnesota. I would’venever gotten the reading from the cage, not fully, not with the demon protecting it. I would’ve just been working, toiling away, at the first tunnel underground, as the tracking ceased to make sense, and I would’ve gotten nowhere.” Still cradling her chin, he swipes his thumb along her jaw, like her very bone structure is a book for him to read. “I wouldn’t have known you.”

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