The morning light filtered through thin blinds, but Cordelia hadn’t slept a wink. She sat at the edge of her bed, elbows on her knees, her palms pressed to her eyes until she saw sparks. Violet’s call. Ash’s face in that infirmary bed. His blood soaking through bandages. His smile when he saw her—like she was the safe thing in the room, the anchor he could cling to.
She didn’t deserve it.
The guilt gnawed at her ribs until she couldn’t breathe. She knew the Vultures’ ambush wasn’t random. Reid had moved too quickly, too strategically. Her recording had painted the Demons’ world in neat lines, and Reid had read those lines with blood in mind.
And Ash had paid for it.
Cordelia looked down at her trembling hands. Once, they had felt clean, steady, meant for saving lives in the bright, ste
