Total pages in book: 116
Estimated words: 109878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 549(@200wpm)___ 440(@250wpm)___ 366(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 549(@200wpm)___ 440(@250wpm)___ 366(@300wpm)
“I’m staying with a friend,” I say carefully. “Blue.”
Her hands pause for just a moment before resuming their work. “Ahhh,” she says, a knowing smile spreading across her face. “You’re Saylor Mitchell. I didn’t think I’d get to meet you until tonight at the party.”
“What party?”
“Blue’s throwing you a welcoming party,” she explains, sliding the gin across the bar. “It’s his way of trying to tell all of Grimlock that you can be trusted.”
“And you all just take his word for it?”
“There’s not a soul in this town that wouldn’t die on the sword for Blue, so if he likes you . . .” she smiles warmly . . . “Welcome to Grimlock.”
Chapter Thirteen
Blue
The axe is calling my name from the trunk of my car, and I’m two seconds away from answering.
I’m sitting in Dr. Finch’s waiting room like some kind of unhinged patient, which I suppose I am, bouncing my leg so hard the floor is probably developing stress fractures. The receptionist—a sweet elderly woman who definitely doesn’t deserve to witness my mental breakdown—keeps shooting me concerned glances over her reading glasses.
“Blue?” she ventures carefully. “Dr. Finch can see you now.”
I practically leap from the chair, nearly knocking over a potted plant in my haste. The familiar chaos of Jay’s office should be comforting, but today it’s sensory overload. Every scattered paper, every precariously balanced book stack, every abandoned coffee mug—it all screams disorganization while my brain demands control.
“Blue!” Jay looks up from where he’s attempting to excavate his desk from an avalanche of patient files. “You look like hell. Also, you’re early. Like, really early. I don’t have another appointment for twenty minutes, which means—” He stops mid-sentence, taking me in from head to toe. “Oh. Emergency session. Got it.”
I drop into my usual chair, my hands already twitching toward my pockets where I keep my knife sharpening stone. Old habits.
“I need to officially come out of retirement,” I announce without preamble.
Jay blinks. Once. Twice. Then he very deliberately sets down the file he was holding and reaches for his emergency flask. It’s not even noon.
“Okay,” he says after taking a healthy swig. “Let’s unpack that statement. What happened between yesterday and right now that made you decide to”—he gestures vaguely at me—“whatever this is?”
“I let her leave.”
“Saylor? You let Saylor leave Maison Rouge?” Jay’s eyebrows disappear into his hairline. “That’s . . . that’s actually progress, Blue. That’s what we talked about. Letting her make choices.”
“It was a mistake.” I’m on my feet now, pacing the narrow space between his desk and the wall. “She’s out there right now, wandering around Grimlock without protection, and all I can think about is systematically hunting down every single Crow until there’s nothing left but feathers and blood.”
“Systematic hunting.” Jay jots something down in his notebook. “That’s very organized thinking for someone having a breakdown.”
“I’m not having a breakdown.”
“You called an emergency therapy session because your houseguest went sightseeing. You’re definitely having something.” Jay caps his pen and leans back in his chair. “When you say you let her leave, what exactly do you mean?”
“I mean she demanded freedom to explore town alone, and instead of doing the rational thing—locking her in her room until the Crow are extinct—I agreed to let Hans drive her around.” I rake my hands through my hair. “Hans, Jay. A man who once tried to comfort a crying witness by offering her his sandwich.”
He claps his hands. “Congrats. You’re actually making progress. You let her leave even though it makes you uncomfortable.”
“Well . . . It’s another reason I’m here visiting you,” I admit. “I’m close enough that I could run to save her before you could make another cup of coffee.” The heart of Grimlock is small.
“Hans seems competent enough when it comes to basic protection duties.”
“Hans is competent at following simple instructions. ‘Carry this body.’ ‘Drive here.’ ‘Don’t let the witness escape.’” I stop pacing to face him directly. “He’s not equipped to handle someone as smart and unpredictable as Saylor. She’ll see right through any attempt to manipulate or control her.”
Jay makes another note. “You seem particularly agitated by Saylor’s . . . independence.”
“I’m agitated by her complete disregard for personal safety. She has no idea what she’s dealing with. The Crow aren’t some abstract threat. They’re real, they’re hunting her, and they won’t hesitate to torture her for sport before they kill her.”
“But you took care of the immediate threat. The two men who came to her apartment—”
“Were scouts. Advance team. The Crow have at least two, maybe three dozen members, all of them trained killers, all of them patient enough to wait for the perfect opportunity.” I resume pacing. “And I just handed them one by letting her wander around town like she’s on vacation.”
Jay watches me wear a path in his carpet, his expression transferring from concerned to calculating. “Blue, can I ask you something?”