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“I can be useful,” I argue with Lan. “You were more than useful, you were the best.” He pats my hair again. “But we both know you’re a dainty princess and would break like delicate china at the first hint of the hardcore stuff, so let me take care of this, okay, love?”
Thing is, Creigh has no idea that I’m equally defective.
Lan wouldn’t use my trust against me.
Annika’s eyes widen. She’s the brunette version of Ava, only seventeen—going on eighteen, as she likes to remind us—and is the personification of a people person. Always kind, smiling, never makes others feel unwanted or uncomfortable, and has the energy of a butterfly on steroids.
“Your brother really sucks.” Ava pauses. “No offense.”
Jeremy Volkov.
I dreamed of black hands suffocating my mouth as I was dragged into the night.
Anyway, it’s not like I want to know the identity of Orange Mask.
His hold loosens from around my neck and then his gravelly, too-rough voice orders, “Run.” I stumble, and the place where he touched me tingles and burns. I want to look at him, and I can feel him behind me as tall as a god and just as lethal.
Maybe I should’ve said that bodily injury is a hard limit, too, but I thought that was a given. Perhaps it’s not.
He, as in, the guy who certainly didn’t sound like Landon. At all. Unless Lan picked up an American accent, a different intonation, and has decided to mess with me.
“L-Lan?” I whisper in a barely audible voice. “Try again.” His voice has roughened, sounding absolutely terrifying.
“I might consider letting you go if you answer the question you ran away from last night, Cecily.”

