I know who’s responsible for helping ease me back into the world of the living: A Blue-Eyed Bastard who tried to tell me I wasn’t cut out for this.
In some ways, he was very wrong.
In some others, though, he was very, very right.
He pulls his hand off my knee for the first time in an hour, only to lift mine onto his thigh and keep it flat there, palm down, grounding me. That’s a good call on his part: It’s so soothing to touch something this real and immovable.
“Listen to me,” he says. “This wasn’t random. We both know that. But it also wasn’t aimed at us. Not yet. If it had been, we’d already be dead, you understand? They had the whole night. They picked Bill, though. I don’t know why, but I’ll figure it out, and then we’ll decide what to do about it. This can only end one way, Cass,
