Page 76 of Find My Way Down to You

My heart skips. His eyes are pools of the richest onyx. I plunge into them, leaping without questioning their depths.

Cary is true to his word. When I trip on his foot, his firm hand on my spine steadies me. He redirects our rhythm. Holds my gaze until the anxiety flees my shoulders. Until I barely notice we’re chest to chest.

The lulling sea guides us. His muscles are loose under my hand. My back arches below his fingers.

Face hot, I stammer, “H-how did you learn to dance like this?”

There it is again. The quirk to his lips. His almost smile, the one I don’t mind as much anymore.

“From watching you.” My eyes bulge, so he quickly adds, “Watchingmortals.”

His cheeks glow pink again.

“Do you spend a lot of time in my world?” I ask.

“Only as needed. It is my role, after all.”

Something goes cold in my gut. An unexpected sadness. Is that all Cary knows? Being the ferrier? A guide who sees so little of us, other than in death?

His gaze shifts away from mine. He looks over my shoulder, his face smoothing in thought. “Sometimes, I am there before it all ends. I see their last moments. I do not linger like astalker.”

I roll my eyes, even though he can’t see.

“But I watch,” he whispers. “And wait for their time to run out.”

“That’s it?”

He lifts a single eyebrow.

“I mean…” My palm is sweaty against his coat. “Do you ever just go to be around us?”

“There is no time, August,” he says stiffly. “And why would I?”

A frustrated exhale leaves my nose. “To see that we’re fun? Or loving? More than just, I don’t know. Whatever you see us as. Maybe you wouldn’t hate us so much.”

His thumb shifts in the hollow of my hip bone. A knot forms between his eyebrows. “I do not hate you.”

I laugh breathily. “You mean mortals, right?”

Our steps slow. Eventually, he releases my hand. The sea’s lullaby fades as Cary moves away from me.

“We should go. Milos is expecting you.”

He’s standoffish again. Nothing more than a hard jaw, rigid shoulders, distant eyes. Anger flickers hotly in me. For a few minutes—for a single dance—I thought he was different.

But he’s still just the ferrier.

“Sure. Let’s go.”

Before I can reach the door, Cary’s fingers circle my wrist. “Be careful with what you say at the ball,” he tells me. “Do not reveal too much.”

I scowl. “Why should I listen to you?”

Beneath his cold stare, there’s a hint of something I wish I could name. “This is not your world,” he says. “Trust me.”

“Trustyou?” I blow out an incredulous breath. “The guy who keeps everything tight to the vest?”

Cary’s nostrils flare, but he says nothing.