Page 13 of The Devil's Trials

His words pull at my chest, and I sniffle, my vision still blurred with tears. “Okay,” I finally say.

“Whenever you’re ready to leave Seattle, I’ll get you on the next flight to JFK. Sound good?”

“Sure. I’ll start packing some things and let you know. Thanks, Dad. I love you.”

“I love you, kiddo. See you soon.”

We end the call, and I set my phone down as the building pressure in my chest gets too strong to swallow. I inhale a strangled breath and immediately choke on a sob that clogs my throat.

The weight of the world presses down on me and heat flushes through me as my limbs tingle. I squeeze my eyes shut, willing the bile churning in my stomach and burning a path up my throat to recede. My thoughts race, and I rock against the pillows, white-knuckling the one in my hands.

I resent the tears that roll down my cheeks as my shoulders shake, but letting them flow seems to ease the weight in my lungs. The sensation of dread still coils around me like an unwanted embrace, making me lightheaded as I climb out of bed and pace my room. I need to move—I can’t sit still right now.

I swipe at the tears still rolling down my cheeks and try my hardest to focus on my surroundings in an attempt to ground myself and diffuse the panic attack. It feels as though it takes forever, like time slows to force me to endure the anxiety, but finally, the tears stop. Or maybe I’ve cried myself dry. I sniffle, wiping my nose with the back of my hand. My eyes are tired and puffy, and exhaustion clings to every muscle in my body.

Crawling back into bed, I’m desperately grateful when sleep finally pulls me under.

After sleeping in for the first day in too long, I spend the next afternoon going through my things to decide what I’m taking to New York and what Harper gets to keep for herself or donate. It feels oddly therapeutic, as if I’m starting fresh, parting with things I no longer need.

It’s also helped to keep busy. The less free time I give myself, the fewer chances I have to relive almost dying at the hands of the devil and spiraling into a panic attack. It simmers just beneath the surface,waiting for me to let my guard slip so it can flood in with the power of a tsunami.

I pause my closet clean-out to have lunch with Adrianna and break the news that I’m leaving Seattle. We haven’t been as close since Phoebe and Grayson died, but I’ve done my best to keep in touch.

After a misty-eyed goodbye, I return to my apartment and spend the afternoon stress baking cookies, muffins, and several loaves of banana bread. I blast music and drink wine until I have a decent buzz, making my list of problems seem not so scary. It’s too bad the reprieve from one emotion gives way to a profound sense of emptiness the minute I slow down.

Collapsing onto the couch, I press a hand to my chest over my heart. I close my eyes, counting beats that feel hollow and untethered. My most vital organ is utterly broken, beating only for the sake of mocking me and my stupidity for getting into this mess in the first place.

Except, this feels deeper than heartbreak. It’s as if something in me has been severed, leaving jagged edges behind, and there’s nothing I can do to repair them. I’ve never disagreed with time being a powerful healer as vehemently as I do now.

It’s a day short of one week since Xander killed Lucia. I haven’t seen or heard from him, not that I expected to, but I haven’t stopped thinking about him. What happened to him after Harper and Noah dragged me out of the room of demons? I have no idea what follows the death of the monarch in the demon world, just that it’s caused turmoil in the hunter organization. Harper has been out of the apartment most days, and Noah flew back to New York almost immediately.

I resign myself to finish going through my clothes the rest of the day. After wrestling another sweater off its hanger and folding it to fit in my suitcase, I glance at my phone to check for any messages from Harper. It’s nearly midnight, and she’s been gone since lunchtime, either on patrol or in training sessions to expedite her hunter graduation. If I had to bet, part of her is keeping busy so she doesn’t think about Xander either. She’s not ready to address being related to him, and I don’t fault her for that.

The front door shuts as I zip my suitcase closed and exhale a soft sigh. I rub my eyes and yawn, walking out to see how Harper’s day went, in hopes she picked up food on her way home.

“Hey,” I call out as I open my bedroom door. “I went through my jackets and left you the—” My voice vanishes, and I freeze the instant I find Xander standing in my apartment, barely ten feet away.

He’s dressed casually in dark jeans, a black shirt, and combat boots. His hair is messily tousled like usual, and his jaw is shadowed with stubble. I’m not sure what to think about him not shaving in over a week. Was it intentional to make himself appear older? Or does he not care about keeping up with it? The flare of concern that invites makes my jaw clench, because as much as I wish I could switch off caring about Xander, that’s not something I can do—and I hate how weak it makes me feel.

Xander slides his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket. “Hi.”

I blink hard, waiting for him to disappear, but he doesn’t.

He’s really here.

When he steps closer, I move back, keeping distance between us.

He frowns briefly as his gaze sweeps over my face. “Camille—”

“Why are you here?” I’m surprised at how even my voice comes out while my heart beats like the wings of a hummingbird in my chest. “You shouldn’t—You can’t be here.”

“I know,” he offers, but makes no move to leave.

I find myself stepping closer, my pulse in my throat as I repeat, “Why are you here?”

His chest rises and falls with a sigh. “We need to talk.”

I nod. I have so many questions, yet the only thing that leaves my lips is, “Thank you.” I have to get it out before he says what he came here for. I anticipate the look of shock on his face and continue, “For saving my life. I can’t imagine how difficult it was—”

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