Page 58 of A Witchy Spell Ride
“Don’t act like you don’t love it,” Briar called after him, then turned to me. “He’s brooding extra hard this week. You notice?”
I didn’t answer.
Of course I noticed.
I noticed everything.
The way he checked every door before I walked through it.
The way his hand always hovered near his knife when someone unexpected entered the room.
The way his eyes tracked everyone.
Especially Banks.
Banks tried to be invisible the way a flood tries to be quiet. The prospect scrubbed oil from under his nails like it was a personality trait and stared at the floor whenever I came near, which would’ve been sweet if he didn’t also have a history of lingering in doorways he didn’t belong in.
Reaper caught him once in the hall and spoke softly enough that I never heard the words, only the echo of them in Banks’s posture as he hunched away. He avoided me after that. Avoided Ghost more.
Small mercies.
Reaper cornered me in the war room that afternoon.
He didn’t sit.
Didn’t soften.
Just closed the door and folded his arms like I was a rival club and not his sister.
“We should cancel the party,” he said.
“No.”
He blinked. “Selene—”
“I’m not cancelling Halloween because some coward with a camera thinks he owns me.”
“You don’t have to prove anything.”
“I do,” I snapped. “To myself. To him. I won’t let him take more than he already has.”
His jaw tightened. “He’s still out there.”
“I’m in here.”
He exhaled. “You think you’re safe.”
“I know I am.”
He looked at me for a long time. “Ghost will be on you the whole night.”
I didn’t argue.
Because I wanted him there.
Even if I wasn’t ready to say that out loud.
Reaper nodded once, then turned to go. Before he left, he paused. “You let me know if anything changes.”
