Hands shaking, I scooted the chair backward with the screech of wood on wood and stood, rushing to the kitchen sink. I must’ve scrubbed my hands in nearly scalding water for minutes, because my skin was raw and stung with minor burns by the time I finally turned the faucet off.

I gripped the edge of the counter and bowed my head over the sink. I’d tied my hair back with a rubber band back in the Tent District, when we’d been taking care of the rest of the critical cases. I’d been so busy helping Dorman then, so focused on creating the gateway that would bring me here, that my mind had been occupied.

It wasn’t anymore. I was just standing there, waiting. And thinking. And remembering.

She’d been so light. Just a wisp of a girl. And her perfect little pixie face had gone from vicious to peaceful in the blink of an eye. In the time it took her to breathe her last breath. For her heart to give up wrapped around Mercy’s blade. For a flash of lucidity to appear in her blue eyes just before the light faded completely. I’d done that. I’d snuffed out that light.

But so had Ouroboros . . .

The thought was logical, and I knew it made sense, but it didn’t stop the shaking. It didn’t stop my stomach muscles from convulsing or the bourbon from rising up my throat and splattering into the sink. It didn’t stop me from melting to the floor, a puddle of misery.

“Little sister—”

I gripped the mirror pendant and yanked, hard. The chain snapped, and I threw it. Somewhere. Away. I wasn’t in the mood to be comforted. I deserved the pain.

On unsteady hands and knees, I crawled back to the table and reached up to grab the bottle of bourbon. I curled up against the end of the cabinets with that bottle and waited for Nik to come home.

I waited. And thought. And remembered.

Chapter Nineteen

The bourbon was gone by the time I heard a key turning in one of the locks on the apartment door. The bottle now lay on its side a few feet from me; I’d knocked it over with my boot, and it had rolled until it hit the table leg. My head lolled to the side when the door opened, and I watched Nik enter the apartment.

He shut the door, twisted the locks, and froze with his hand still on the bottom deadbolt. Likely because he picked up on my heartbeat or the lazy whoosh of air in and out of my lungs. Or maybe it was the scent of bourbon and blood that tipped him off. Regardless, his eyes locked with mine, black pools of darkness in the dim apartment.

“You shouldn’t be h—” His words cut off when he flipped on the light switch beside the door, and he froze once more. His pupils constricted at the influx of light, revealing his hauntingly pale blue irises. “Shit, Kat. Are you alright?”