Page 168 of Where the Snakes Sleep

I lean back against the sofa, arms spread. “My mistake. My choice.”

Henri’s features harden. “You would choose him?” he asks.

I let a faint smile ghost across my lips. “I’m still considering my options.”

Camille’s face contorts with pure outrage. I hope he hears the lie. I hope Henri never doubts it.

Henri relaxes—just the slightest slackening of tension. “Good. You need not decide everything tonight.”

“Oh?” I arch an eyebrow.

“No.” His voice softens like velvet. “You have been through much. You must be tired.”

“Tired,” I echo, and the word tastes like truth.

“You could come with me now. Rest. Tomorrow, we shall speak properly.”

The domestic ease of it makes laughter bubble up in my chest, but I swallow it back. Tomorrow, as if this were a family matter.

“And Camille?” I ask, voice suddenly brittle.

Henri’s face remains polite. “Camille will remain here.”

I look down at the dark stain spreading across the floorboards. “Alive?”

Henri hesitates—just a heartbeat too long. I meet Camille’s gaze. He pins me with a warning. Don’t.

I turn back. “If I go with you, I want him alive.”

Henri nods slowly, studying me.

“Ryan…” Camille croaks out a warning, but I ignore him.

“Hm…” Henri decides, “He can live. Though I thought it would be rather amusing to wipe out the entire lot of them.”

Them. He talks about Camille’s family like mere dolls to play with.

I pretend to weigh it. In truth, I’m gauging the distance between us—his knee less than a foot from mine, his torso angled toward me.

Camille looks to me. I catch his eye for a heartbeat—too late, he sees something in me. A surge of triumph warms my chest.

I turn to Henri and smile before Camille can cry out. “So I live with you.”

He inclines his head. “Yes.”

“You’ll treat me like family.”

“As I should have years ago,” he murmurs.

I force my face to soften, vulnerable, an edge of genuine emotion in my tone. “I spent most of my life wishing someone would come get me.”

Camille’s expression shifts. Henri’s shifts too, but for different reasons. I fold my hands in my lap. “When things got bad with my father, I used to imagine someone finding out and deciding it wasn’t okay.”

Henri reaches out; his hand hovers a moment before settling on my shoulder, warm and real.

“Ryan,” he says softly, squeezing gently. “There should have been someone.”

The words find that old hollow place inside me with horrible accuracy—the one that never quite filled in.