Scarlet
“What the hell is wrong with you?”
That was the first thing I planned to say.
Loud. Clear. Unapologetic.
I’d been rehearsing it the entire way here, muttering it to myself like a chant, like a spell, like something that would anchor me in my purpose. Because if I didn’t lead with fire, I might forget why I’d come at all.
And I couldn’t afford that.
Not today.
Not when Astrid was already falling apart at the seams, barely holding it together after burying the only person she ever had. And Damien? Damien was out here playing investigator, stalking the witches like they were harboring some ancient threat.
It was her funeral, and he’d spent half of it scanning the crowd like he expected Astrid to grow horns.
And I knew what that looked like. I knew what it felt like.
Because
