I sat up, and he wrapped the towel around me. I was tired of wearing white cotton, but saw no use in putting on the only set of clean clothes I had, when I was just going to get sweaty all over again with the next few Shifts.

When Marc came out of the bathroom, I was seated at the table with a plastic cup of ice water. “I got you an ’06 Explorer. Tinted windows. They threw in the cargo net for free.”

Jace nodded. “That should work. It’ll be faster than a van.” He turned toward me. “I gotta go. Wish me luck.”

My heart thumped in fear for him as I shoved my chair back. I crossed the room in several quick steps and went up on my toes for a hug, pinning the towel between us before it could fall off. “Please be careful,” I whispered as his rough cheek brushed mine. “Ethan’s death was all I can take.”

“Me, too.” He squeezed me so hard it hurt, but I didn’t complain. Some part of me knew there was a good chance I’d never see Jace again.

I let him go and tightened my towel. Jace looked at Marc over my head, and I followed his gaze. Marc’s jaw was tight, his stance tense. But his hands hung loose at his sides. He wasn’t pleased by the hug, but wasn’t going to deny either of us a goodbye. Not under the circumstances. Not that he could have stopped it.

“Play it smart, Hammond,” Marc said at last.

Jace nodded and held his gaze. “Take care of her.” Neither of them looked at me; they were too busy staring at each other, each sizing the other up. Or maybe warning him.

“You know I will. If she’ll let me.”

Jace gave a short laugh, then looked at me, one hand on the doorknob. “Let him.”

I nodded. Then he was gone.

Tears stood in my eyes, and a huge lump had formed in my throat.

“Eat something,” Marc said, and I realized I was still staring at the door.

I started to argue—I was more nauseated from exertion than hungry—then realized I’d just said I’d let him take care of me. So I sat at the table as he unwrapped another biscuit. There was no microwave, so I ate it cold, while Marc avoided my eyes from the other side of the table.

“Marc?” I asked when I was finished, wadding my wrapper awkwardly in one hand. His silence could not be good.

He finally looked up, watching me in equal parts fear, anger, and grief. “He loves you.”

I closed my eyes and counted to five, then forced them open again. Made myself meet his gaze. “I know.”

Marc shook his head, his brows drawn low. “I mean, he really loves you. It’s not just some instinctive need to possess the tabby, now that he’s coming into his potential. He’s in love with you.”

“I know.” My throat wanted to close around my next breath. “Could you please stop saying it?”