“The whole house is haunted, I told you.” “I’m leaving.” “Come on, Snow, you can sleep on my couch. The wraiths don’t hang out in here.” “Why not?” “I creep them out.” “You creep me out,” I mutter, and he throws one of his pillows into my face. (It smells like him.) I realize, as I’m settling in on his couch, that I don’t mean it. About him creeping me out. I used to mean it. I usually do. But he’s the most familiar thing in this house, and I fall asleep better, listening to Baz breathe, than I have since winter break started.
