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“I’m dying here,” I whimper, dropping my head back between my knees. “This is torture.”
"He's fine." Stefan’s words are what I need to hear. But his voice is weak and unpersuasive and his gaze is cast down between his feet just like mine.
"Is that supposed to convince me?"
He shakes his head. "No. Because I'm not sure it's true."
The little bit of hope I'd found turns to dust in my hands. "So you're lying?"
"No, I'm weighing the probabilities," he says. "I've been with Adrik through some serious shit. There was that time when—”
“Oh God, please, no. The last thing I need is more material for my nightmares.”
Stefan chuckles and then grows serious again. "My point is, Adrik always figures it out. Always. So, I'm thinking… out of all of that death and destruction and chaos, what are the odds that today is the day he fails? What are the odds today is the day he dies?"
I can't think about it. I don't want to find hope where there isn't any, and God knows I have enough despair as it is.
"I'm not much for betting,” I mumble.
"Well, I am," Stefan says. "And when it comes down to it, I'll put my money on Adrik Tasarov every fucking time. No questions asked."
I give him a small smile. "I hope you’re right, Stef. God, I hope you’re right.”
Through the window, the smoke cloud grows darker.
