“At least that’s keeping her mind occupied.” Which was more than I’d managed for myself. “Try to get some sleep, Kor. We’ll find Kenni tomorrow.” Or die trying.

On my way down the hall, I stopped in front of the door to my former room out of habit and had one hand on the doorknob before I remembered it wasn’t my room anymore. I stood there for a minute, thinking about Sera, and how much we still didn’t know about her. About how badly I wanted to trust her. How badly I wanted her to trust me. But in the two days since we’d met, I’d nearly gotten her killed several times—it was a miracle she didn’t run when she saw me coming.

But then, I had yet to see her run from anything.

She could have taken the coward’s way out tonight. She could have told me to shoot Ned the guard, which would have kept her off of Julia’s radar. Or, as close to off the radar as possible, for someone who’d survived being shot at by Tower’s goons three times in less than two days.

Instead, she’d let Ned live and exposed herself as our ally, damning her to be hunted alongside us.

Why would she do that? We would have helped her hunt the bastard who’d killed her family either way.

When I finally lay down on the couch with the pillow I’d stolen from my own bed while she was in the shower, I couldn’t get Sera out of my mind. Every time I closed my eyes, she was there, but the mental picture was never what I expected. Instead of a self-indulgent memory of her standing naked at the foot of my bed, I kept seeing her as she’d looked the day we met, in Tower’s foyer, when her reckless bravery had nearly gotten us both killed.

After an hour and a half of staring at the muted television—any noise from the TV was guaranteed to wake Gran, even though she would have slept through World War III itself—I gave up and headed into the kitchen to nuke a cup of hot chocolate.

Armed with my steaming mug, I sat at the table with Elle’s notebook and started flipping through the pages again, looking for new meaning in old words. Hoping that Ned’s sliver of information would fit in with something I’d long ago forgotten I’d ever written.

“That stuff is crap in a mug,” Sera said, and I thought I’d imagined her voice—wishful thinking—until I looked up to find her standing in the kitchen doorway, in Kori’s robe.

“We have to get you some new clothes.” I flipped the notebook shut. “Preferably something neither of my sisters ever wore.”

“Why?” She glanced down at the robe, which hung open to reveal a snug tank top and shorts so short I didn’t want to know which sister they belonged to. “Kori wants her clothes back?”

“Not that she’s mentioned. But that’s just creepy.” I waved a hand at her...whole body. “From my perspective.”

“Your sister’s clothes are creepy?”

I frowned. She was going to make me actually tell her how hot she was. “On you? Yes,” I said, and her hurt expression clued me in to the fact that I’d just failed the Communicating With Women pop quiz. “That’s not what I meant. You look...so good, in a way I don’t want to associate with my sisters’ clothes.”

But that didn’t do her justice. Sera looked practically edible, in that you’ll-never-taste-anything-this-sweet-ever-again kind of way. In fact, all I’d had was a taste, and the thought of never tasting her again made me want to bite my own tongue off, to put it out of its misery. “Does that make sense?”

She gave me a mischievous smile. “I’m not sure. That almost sounded like a compliment.”

“I’m only human, and you’re...flaunting.”

Her brows rose and she tied the robe closed. “Better?”

I had to swallow a groan. That wasn’t better at all.

Instead of answering, which I wasn’t sure I could do without begging for another peek, I kicked out the chair next to mine in wordless invitation.

Sera sat and picked up the empty hot-chocolate packet. Then she peeked into my mug and grimaced. “Seriously. How can you drink that crap? Hot chocolate is made with milk, and sugar, and cocoa. And a pot. On the stove.”

I shrugged. “The microwave’s easier.”

She laughed. “Do you always make such little effort?”

I shook my head slowly, studying her, trying to decide whether I’d imagined smut behind likely innocent words. “No. The rest of my life is complicated. Food seems like the safest place to take a shortcut. We are still talking about food, aren’t we?”

“Were we ever?” She stood before I could interpret either her tone or her expression and dropped the empty paper packet into the trash, then snatched my mug from my hands.

“Hey!” I protested as she dumped thin, chocolate-flavored water into the sink.

“I’ll make cocoa. You tell me how you’re going to kill the bastard who murdered my family.”

“With a gun, almost certainly.” I watched as she pulled a half-full jug of milk from the fridge, then started opening cabinets. “That’s kind of my specialty.”

“Are you armed right now?”

I took the .45 from my lap and set it on the table.

She frowned and pushed the last cabinet door closed. “I think you have a serious problem. Do you sleep with that thing?”

“Only when I sleep alone,” I said, and either I was imagining things, or she blushed. A lot.

“Sugar?” Her brows rose in question, surely an attempt to cover her own...interest? Curiosity? Either way, I had sudden hope that she might not permanently hate me.