Page 181 of Where the Snakes Sleep

Henri coughs, harsh and rattling. “You killed me.”

My heart twists.

Camille swivels toward Henri. “You are still speaking, Henri.”

“You know what I mean.”

“No. I know you’re trying to frighten him.”

Henri’s laugh is weak, bitter. “He should be frightened.”

I am. I resent him for being right.

Camille slides between Henri and me, a human shield. “Look at me.”

I obey, voice barely more than a whisper. “I’m looking.”

“Are you injured anywhere besides your shoulder?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“Did anything happen when you prepared the syringe?”

My mouth turns to dust. “No.”

“Are you certain?”

“Yes.”

“I need you to tell me if there’s even the slightest possibility—”

“There isn’t.”

“Ryan.”

“I was careful.”

Camille’s eye dips closed. A tremor shivers through his frame—relief, maybe. When he opens that eye again, his gaze is fierce, wanting to scream. “You were careful.”

“Yeah.”

“Handling venom.”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Alone.”

“I mean, technically, the snakes were there,” I mumble.

He presses both hands to his face, then yanks them away with a hiss as he brushes the gash on his cheek.

“See?” I say. “You’re not exactly making excellent decisions either.”

He scowls.

Henri coughs again—wetter, more labored. We both turn. His skin has taken on a waxy pallor, sweat beading at his temples despite the stale coolness.

Camille moves in closer, attentive. “What are you feeling?”