Chapter 43
Much like my life had become over the past hundred years or so.
Perhaps I realized all this because the fever warped my brain processes into new patterns. I’d certainly never consciously considered my life dry or boring before. Settled. That was the word I would have used. When Lemuel had accused of me of being an old man, I’d fought his description, but now, it seemed strangely apropos.
I wasold. I’d lived for centuries upon centuries, doing mostly the same thing, using the excuse of moving around the mortal plane in job after job as justification that I was still living in the moment, that I wasn’texactly what I professed not to be. When I left this world, nobody would remember me. Nobody would care that I’d ever existed.
Leandro’s gaze bored into mine.
No, that was wrong.
Leandro would remember. He would care.
That was why he’d wanted to find me.