Silence for two steps, three. “ ‘Miss’ is… not the word. It is deeper than that.” A pause. “I suppose you don’t miss him because you see him, or used to, on the blood walks.”

I take a breath. “Are you jealous?”

A pause. “Of what, exactly?”

“Sel, I know you used to have feelings for him. Do you now?”

Sel lowers his hands, rounding to face me. He inhales deeply and shakes his head. “The Nicholas I fell for is gone, I think, if he ever existed at all. So, no. My feelings for him run deep, but not in that direction. Not anymore.”

“Do you wish they still did?”

He laughs quietly. “What I felt for Nicholas before wasn’t healthy, Bree. It was adoration poisoned with mutual spite. I understood how to be his bodyguard but didn’t understand how to be his friend. Or how to ask him to be mine. I don’t want that.”

“Do you wish for something else then?” I press, feeling brave. “Something… healthy?”

“I don’t know if that’s in the cards for me.” He seems poised to protest, then stops, studying me. “If I allowed myself that wish, it would be truly something. But wishes are the dangerous mind games we play with ourselves. The only way to win is not to play.”

He reaches for my eyes again, a request. I nod and he wraps his hands around my face gently until the forest is gone once more. We keep walking. After a moment, he says, “The point is, you are leagues ahead of Nick, ahead of all of us, I think….” He swallows. “One of my deepest hopes is that one day you will finally believe this yourself, but alas…” He clucks his tongue, voice faux-wistful. “You are too stubborn.”

I huff. “Maybe I’ll start buying into my own hype just to prove you wrong.”

He laughs. “Please do.”

For a moment, I wonder at this entire exchange. Selwyn at my ear in the dark, telling me what he likes about me. I might have questioned his compliments a few weeks ago. Questioned his motives. I want to believe he means every single word, but a small sliver of my heart won’t let me. I can’t shake the thought that his voice is the same honey in truth that it is in lies. I clear my throat. “Are we there yet?”

“Almost.”

I wait, listening. There are crickets here. A trill beneath the rushing water. The mist and spray mingle together in my nose in occasional gusts. And Sel’s hands are hot against my forehead, gentle over my eyes.

“Okay,” he whispers, and drops his hands to reveal my present.