Retrieving gloves from the car, I paused to draw protection runes. Invisible, they still crawled over my skin like ants.
I returned, Nate was standing. Naturally. He solves problems by
chambering another round – or ordering one. With no way to divert fear,
he faked bravery.
“No spells,” he warned.
witchcraft. The flavor is wrong, corrupt.” Traumatic myopia drove me to
reveal secrets I shouldn’t. “I can’t cure you.”
Red lines blossomed under his skin. “I thought tumor fruit was a myth.”
“Then before I die, let’s torch this crop and hunt down whoever created it.”