REMI
Remi doesn’t let go.
Ronin’s grip shifts, his fingers twitching like he means to pull away, but Remi holds fast; his palm stays firm against Ronin’s, the heat of their skin pressed together as if he might physically keep him from slipping away. The grief, the slick, unnatural thing curling at its edges—it pours into Remi like a slow, smothering tide, but he doesn’t flinch, doesn’t recoil.
And then—that. "She just made me understand—"
Remi’s breath leaves him in a sharp, shuddering thing, and for a split second, he sees it. The worst of what it all might become: Not now, not yet, but someday. A day when Dahlia’s honeyed whispers have twisted deep enough, when her influence has turned every scar Ronin has into proof that the Family was right all along, when his conviction becomes something ironclad. A day when Ronin looks at him with that same surety in his voice and decides that Remi is standing in his way.
His fingers tighten, too tight now, maybe even painful, as his gaze flickers toward Mort, helpless and raw. "Should I be worried?" He swallows hard, his stomach twisting. "About this new...understanding?" The Bastion doesn't have it in him to offer context, but he doubts if the god of death needs it.
Do I have to worry about my husband killing me?
Ronin’s grip shifts, his fingers twitching like he means to pull away, but Remi holds fast; his palm stays firm against Ronin’s, the heat of their skin pressed together as if he might physically keep him from slipping away. The grief, the slick, unnatural thing curling at its edges—it pours into Remi like a slow, smothering tide, but he doesn’t flinch, doesn’t recoil.
And then—that. "She just made me understand—"
Remi’s breath leaves him in a sharp, shuddering thing, and for a split second, he sees it. The worst of what it all might become: Not now, not yet, but someday. A day when Dahlia’s honeyed whispers have twisted deep enough, when her influence has turned every scar Ronin has into proof that the Family was right all along, when his conviction becomes something ironclad. A day when Ronin looks at him with that same surety in his voice and decides that Remi is standing in his way.
His fingers tighten, too tight now, maybe even painful, as his gaze flickers toward Mort, helpless and raw. "Should I be worried?" He swallows hard, his stomach twisting. "About this new...understanding?" The Bastion doesn't have it in him to offer context, but he doubts if the god of death needs it.
Do I have to worry about my husband killing me?
Speaks with a thick Italian accent.
Force and magic can be used against Remi without permission.
Force and magic can be used against Remi without permission.
