Chapter 26 · Shadows of the Saint

"Stop squirming, Nova. You're making the bleeding worse."

Kael's hand clamped onto my shoulder, pinning me back against the edge of the white marble table. His grip wasn't gentle. It was the kind of hold that reminded me exactly who owned the room and who was just a guest—or a prisoner—in it.

"Get your hands off me," I spat, though the words came out as a ragged wheeze. My side was screaming, a jagged tear in my suit from the vault scuffle that was still oozing a dark, stubborn red. "I can do it myself."

"With what? Those shaking hands?" Kael didn't let go. Instead, he leaned in, his face inches from mine. I could smell the sterile scent of the Sanctuary's medicinal soaps and something else—something sharp and metallic that didn't belong on a saint. "You're pathetic when you're leaking, you know that? Where's that tyrant who burned down half the East District?"

I tried to jerk away, but he shifted his weight, pressing his chest against my arm to keep me still. The proximity was suffocating. I could feel the heat radiating off him, a steady, oppressive warmth that made my skin prickle.

"I'm still that person, Kael.