I looked at the glass.
Cassian’s lips pressed into the thinnest of lines before he sat me up and brought the glass to my lips. Instinctively, I put my hands on his, and I was glad I did, because he tried to pull awayfarbefore I was done drinking.
“Quit, you’re going to make yourself throw up,” he lectured, voice far too concerned for a manI’dstabbed.
Still, he didn’t pull the cup away, and I didn’t really give a shit if I vomited. I just wanted the dryness in my mouth to go away. He waited until I’d drained the glass to move it away, then he put pillows under my back and laid me down, like I was somethingprecious.
“How do you feel? You’ve been out for a long time.” He reached forward and pressed a hand to my forehead.
“How long isa long time?”
Cassian scratched his neck, causing his auburn ponytail to move. “Seventy-seven hours?”
My eyes widened–that was like three days, right? Maybe a little more.
“And you guys didn’tkillme?” Oh shit, that brought me to the next issue.
Why thefuckwasn’t I dead?
Cassian winced as if the question physically hurt him, then, after a moment, he recovered, like he understoodwhythat was a reasonable question.
“Well, I mean, to be real, Seth almost did–” he pointed at my neck.
My fingers flew to the spot and landed on a mass of gauze andnotan open wound.
“But, youwonthe game. Sun rose, you survived, why would we kill you?” he said matter-of-factly.
And I hesitated a moment because he was right. But that just raised even more questions.
“Why didn’t you just let me die then?” I was fairly certain I’d almost bled out.
Cassian looked at his lap, shaking his head as he played with the dog tags around his neck.
“Ronan said we should have, that you’d ask too many questions,” he mumbled under his breath.
“Well–he was right.”
Cassian shook his head once more, swiping a tongue across his lip.
“Why didn’t you just letmedie?” he challenged, lifting his shirt to expose the wound on his side.
Gone were the butterfly bandages, and in their place were a set of messy stitches.
“Where’d you get those?” Didhego to the hospital?
“Where do youthinkI got them?” He scoffed as he tugged his shirt back down. “Do you know how hard it is to stitch yourself up when you’re drunk?”
My nose wrinkled. “Why were you drunk?”
“... Do you know how much harder it is to stitch yourself upsober?”
I snorted, an ugly, raspy, unladylike sound, but it was a genuine one. Honestly, if my chest didn’t hurt so much, I probably would have laughed.
“If you could stitch yourself up, why’d you let me play doctor?”
Cassian shrugged. “Wanted to see what you could do.”
“That’s a hell of a way to test someone,” I muttered, trying to cross my arms.
