Shirley
I didn’t answer right away. I wanted to—God, I wanted to tell her exactly where I stood, to declare I was firmly in Dante’s corner. But the truth was messier. I didn’t fully understand Dante’s world yet, let alone my place in it. My instincts screamed at me to trust him, yet another part—one shaped by years of betrayal—refused to put all my cards in one hand.
Cassandra set her cup down, the porcelain clinking against the counter. “You hesitate,” she observed.
“I think,” I corrected, narrowing my eyes at her. “You should try it sometime.”
Her smirk widened. “Thinking slows you down. People who overthink don’t live long in our world.”
I tilted my head. “And people who rush into things get killed faster.”
That earned me a chuckle, low and throaty. She didn’t argue, which somehow
