She works in silence for another minute. I study her face, the high cheekbones, the stubborn set of her jaw, the slight furrow of concentration between her brows.
"You know," I say, "I pictured this moment differently. In my head, I always had a gun."
"And I always hoped to never see you again." She meets my eyes briefly. "Looks like we're both disappointed."
I laugh. "You're either very brave or very stupid."
"I'm still alive," she says. "So probably the former."
She finishes and walks over to throw some things away.
I stand and close the distance between us.
"You think I won't kill you?" I say, looking down at her.
She turns and doesn't back away.
"I patch up monsters. You're not the first. You won't be the last."
"That's not what I asked."
She sighs. "I think if you were going to, you would've done it already."
I look down at her, a million things running through my mind.
"Keep it clean. No fighting for a few weeks."
"I'll consider it."
She strips off her gloves and tosses them in the trash. "We done here?"
"For now. But you'll see me again."
She looks up at me, her eyes full of defiance. "Hopefully not."
And then she turns away. Dismisses me like I'm no one. That pisses me off more than anything else she's done.
I want to wrap my fingers around her throat and put her through the fucking wall. But I don't. Now's not the time. There's a ton of people outside this room.
So I just look at her for a moment, like a predator measuring his kill.
After a few seconds, I turn and walk out.
It's not a matter of if I'll find her, but when, and what I'll do.
2
LYRA
Ilight the candle, even though I feel ridiculous doing it.
It's one of those shitty supermarket cupcakes where the vanilla frosting is dyed a shade of pink for some unknown reason. The single candle burns unevenly, wax already curling down the side.
To top it off, it sits on a chipped plate I stole from the diner down the street.
Twenty-five years old today. Happy fucking birthday to me.
I sigh.
