I followed her, but she managed to make it to her bathroom, slamming the door in my face. I reached for the handle just as a lock snicked into place.

“If you even think about breaking that door, SJ …” she growled, then groaned again. I clenched my fingers into a fist, enjoying the pain of my human nails digging into the flesh of my palm.

I wanted in there. Wanted to … help her.

My own fault.

“Tell me the truth, Mouse!” I rumbled, pressing my fist to the door. Desiring to bash it down to get to her. Barely controlling that urge. “Did you know, when you saw that food come out tonight, that this would be the outcome for you?”

She scoffed angrily. “Of course I did! But that was the plan, wasn’t it?” The thunk of the lavatory lid being lifted reached my ears. She was sick. So sick that everything in my chest felt too tight, with … worry?

“Stupid,” I muttered, my forehead hitting the door with a thud.

“Did you just call me stupid?” she ground out, every word filled with the agony she clearly felt.

Because of me.

Rage bubbled up, spilling over. This was my fault, but if she had just …

“You should have said something!” I roared, thumping my head against the door again. “You should have told me that this is what would happen to you!”

She didn’t reply, but there were other … sounds … from the bathroom. Sounds I was sure she would prefer I wasn’t overhearing. But I was not leaving. What if she …

What if this could kill her? I had no idea how fragile the human constitution could be when it consumed something it was sensitive to. She wasn’t speaking. What if she had collapsed?

“Jemma, are you alright?”

“No, I’m not alright, you idiot!”

I could have sagged with relief that she was well enough to insult me. “Why did you not tell me it was like this for you?”

Another moan. My fingers itched for the handle. It would be so easy to break the flimsy human lock.

But then she spoke, in a voice thin with pain. “And what? Let you win? It was this …” Another moan and panting … “Or forfeit my soul to your stupid FiendPay scheme tonight! And I’ve lost anyway, haven’t I? Because you portalled me away before I could finish my torture-dinner!”

“Damn it, Jemma!” I snarled, self-loathing making my words sharp. “He told me that at worst you’d have a night of mild discomfort!”

“He?” she shrieked. “Who … Chad? Is that why you appeared out of thin air at brunch? To interrogate my ex on ways to upset me?”