"Really? Astrid? Of all people?"
My voice came out flat, tired, furious. I was standing in Devon's bedroom, hands folded tight against my chest, back pressed to the wall like I'd been shoved there by fate itself. The room was dark, lights off, curtains drawn, silence thick. But I could see him as clear as day as he stepped into his room.
My powers were back. Fully back.
Devon wasn't surprised that I was in his room, he stood near the bed, shirt half-buttoned, sleeves rolled, posture relaxed in that infuriating way that had always made my blood boil and my knees weak at the same time. If anything, he looked… worse. Better. Sharper. More devastatingly handsome. Like death had polished him to appear even more better and sent him back to ruin me properly this time.
He didn't look surprised to see me.
He looked annoyed.
"I don't have time for this," he said coolly. "Or for your many attempts at murdering me. Get out."
