Page 81 of The Girl Who Only Died Once

“Besides the demon in the cage,” he continues, languid. “I’ll give you that one, it shouldn’t count.”

That’s a little bit nice.

It absolutely counts.

“Not directly,” she replies. “There are absolutely situations I’ve created, traps I’ve broken, things undone, that means people have died.”

The air is perfectly still, such a contrast to the swirling power that had surrounded them during the battle on the street, not even the puff of a heater.

“That’s almost noble,” Killian says, and somehow, it’s perfectly sincere. “That you recognize it. That creating a situation counts.”

“Of course it does,” Chloe says, surprising herself with the force behind her voice. “They created the situation that made me. They created the situations that led to Terese. To Ambra.Even if they didn’t control what happened after, the blood is still on their hands.”

The words hang between them, and, almost tentatively, he reaches out a hand and barely touches her elbow, a soft contact that’s almost a caress.

“I’m a wrecking ball when it comes to defenses,” Chloe continues, quieter, like his touch stole the volume. “And I know enough to know that sometimes the defenses are there for reasons when I rip through them.”

The base in Toronto is a perfect example. When taking down the stasis…some of those released immediately killed those around them.

“Alchemists usually don’t think that way,” he murmurs.

“I do,” Chloe replies, so quiet that she can barely hear herself, just above breathing. “Them not thinking that way is why the college is that way. If they just for a few seconds, for a few minutes, took the break to think of all the implications, all the damage they have wrought—”

He swipes his thumb over the skin along her elbow, and it derails her thoughts, just enough for her to catch her breath.

“I agree with you,” he says, gentle.

“Thanks,” she whispers.

If they had thought for just longer than it took to make the orders, she would’ve never broken their rules, would’ve never felt backed into the corner, have never been arrested. Would have never been taken away from her friends, from everything she wanted in her life.

“The child,” he starts, like he’s trading her a secret, the same staged whisper. “Would’ve been taken care of by a stable father if someone stopped him from going mad with power. If someone thought to pull him back before he went too deep, before he sacrificed all his common sense just for control.”

Chloe’s heard that happening before. Of children of magicians having stunted childhoods, barely surviving starving to death because of neglect. Of entering the college before they can read, half feral.

“He kept her instead in a house with dangerous creatures, with traps everywhere, and just enough food for her to remain alive. I wasn’t the only demon she walked freely around with no guardrails.”

The hair on the back of Chloe’s neck raises.

It’s stereotyping, of course, but demons aren’t known for sparing humans. Even Ambra had no real difficulty cutting through people in her way once threatened.

He swipes his thumb over her elbow again, playing with the texture of her skin, and goosebumps raise on her arms in the dark.

It fits into the picture she’s putting together of him. Of someone wronged, of someone held just like her. Of someone who saw a child and crafted a place so safe all aspects were considered.

“She’s lucky you were there, then,” Chloe says, at length, and he shudders, full body.

“I killed her father,” he says, and she’s not terribly surprised, knowing what she knew about demons and from his battle out before. “An abomination broke the traps, I killed her father and then ran.”

His tone is boasting, but the words are as if a confession for Chloe to receive, to absolve him of.

Demons have no religion. Why would they, when they are the things that every religion warns about.

But she’s seen guilt and regret in Ambra’s eyes, seen the fear in Melekai’s when watching his Necromancer do anything. Seen both of them get stuck in emotions, in the negative view of the past, almost unable to pull themselves out without help.

“Sounds like he set up a system that he should’ve thought about,” Chloe drawls, surprising a huff of laughter from him.

The hand stills against her elbow, but not in a warning way. Like the idle motion is finally coming to rest.

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