Page 76 of Bitter’s Sweet

“He gave me ten percent off.”

Ghoul laughs from his bike behind us.

Nevermore cuts the engine and looks at me through the windshield like he can see the exact shape of my temper.

I look at Sweet. “Stay between me and Ghoul.”

“I can walk by myself.”

“I know.”

“Then why?”

“Because I can’t shoot through you.”

She blinks.

“That was a joke.”

“No, it wasn’t.”

“No, it wasn’t.”

Her mouth curves despite herself. “You are terrible at reassurance.”

“I’m good at other things.”

“I know. You gave me a list.”

“Not the full one.”

Her cheeks pink again, and my body answers like an idiot.

Not now.

Room twelve smells like lemon spray, cheap sheets, and the loneliness of too many people passing through. Sweet’s things are folded neatly on the dresser and stacked in one open suitcase by the bed. Two pairs of shoes. A makeup bag. Toiletries. A thrift-store cardigan. Textbooks.

A little framed photo sits face down on the nightstand.

No clutter. No roots.

I hate it.

I stand in the doorway while Ghoul checks the bathroom and Nevermore looks at the window lock.

Sweet moves fast, too fast, scooping clothes into the suitcase like she’s done emergency packing before. I grab the textbooks and her makeup kit.

“I can do that.”

“Didn’t say you couldn’t.”

“You’re doing it anyway.”

“Yep.”

She pulls open a drawer and freezes.

I see it before she can block me.