Page 8 of The Girl Who Only Died Once

“I’ve been in and out,”he replies neutrally, and Chloe gets a sudden shock of memory of Ambra complaining at how cryptic Wights are. “I try not to intrude on private conversations with those who can’t see me.”

“Cool,” Chloe says, still a bit wigged. “Well, I’m wide awake, no doubt about that.”

He nods, then pulls out a chair and sits in it across from her, and now Chloe wants to know if every chair has the same notification spell, the same surveillance.

“You don’t have to sit up with me, I’m definitely okay without that,” Chloe continues, as the silence stretches on and twists into awkwardness. “I’m gonna leave tomorrow so I’ll be out of your hair, don’t worry—”

The Wight tilts his head, and she falls silent, like she’s been scolded.

“You don’t want to stay and be monitored for a few days?” His words aren’t judgy, but Chloe has to stop herself from bristling. “Don’t you think that would be wise?”

And he’s probably correct, but she wouldn’t want to really sit here and think too hard about what exactly had happened, not when her best friend is angry at her and everyone else is treating her like she’s made out of a particularly fragile sort of glass.

“Eh,” she replies, shrugging with more casualness than she’s feeling. “Wise doesn’t really factor into things. I have flights to catch, hotels to check into, things to hunt down.”

“What would you want the spirit fox for, anyways?”

She stares, somewhat mutinously, over at the Wight. “She’s my friend.”

“She’s also a source of power,” he says, almost severely, and Chloe’s suddenly reminded of being a preteen and new to the entire college. “People have killed and will kill to lay their hands on her.”

“And maybe if she’s with me,” Chloe starts, and being lectured only brings out the petulance in her, “then I can stop people from draining her over and over again.”

The Wight’s very creepy blue eyes—seriously how does Alette do it—just watch her for a long second. “And if she doesn’t want to be with you?”

It’s a possibility. Her friend is barely sentient, more cat-like than human intelligence, and if it wasn’t for a trick of nature, she would be more akin to a wild animal, avoiding humanity and dwelling outside.

But when Chloe was young, right when Chloe needed saving, her friend curled up next to her, fur bristling with warmth, and kept her company in that long cold darkness she should have died in. Followed her out, padding softly, when a rescue came, before being captive instead.

And Chloe can’t let that happen again.

“Then I’d let her go free,” Chloe says, slowly, after a long moment of just being watched. “But at least she wouldn’t be drained anymore.”

Again, the expression that people think she’s being ever so slightly foolish.

She hates that expression.

She doesn’t sleep,instead substituting rest with caffeine in a way she hasn’t done since her early twenties, and by the time the sun rises she’s scrolling through the airline websites, puzzling over the best way to hop a border a few times with her best approximation of a passport.

Sure, she could be a genius at breaking traps and picking locks, but passports are complicated for a reason, and fooling scanners is a lot harder than fooling people.

“You shouldn’t do that.”

Chloe jumps at the voice, at the split familiar tone of Ambra and the odd growl underneath, and twisting to look back at her just triggers another small jump.

“I’m scrolling the internet,” Chloe says, clutching her phone to her chest, like she had been caught cheating on a test.

Her eyes drag with each blink, but her mind fizzes with the caffeine, entirely too awake and too tired to have a conversation.

“I mean leave without talking to people,” Ambra remarks, passing her and pulling out a bag of candy from a drawer—some of the spicy candy, the type she leaves in almost every room.

Candy’s not a great breakfast, but Chloe’s not going to quibble as long as Ambra’s actually eating. Let Gurlien worry about nutrition.

“I wasn’t,” Chloe lies, and Ambra raises an eyebrow at her. Even with the double appearance, even with the shadow self-overlayed, her expressions are still the same, and it’s a small comfort. “I was at least going to say something.”

Ambra has the temerity to roll her eyes, a hilariously human expression. “You have your bags packed?”

“Yeah.” It had been easy to do so, after running from the cabin. She can obtain clothing, make more out of things that most would throw away, and alchemy the rest.

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