“She’ll be fine.”
Liberty didn’t budge. He became a statue, a slave of his own overthinking mind, the moment Naomi’s eyes fell shut. He can still remember it all. How he saw red when one of the metal fuckers banged the poor humans head, just in time for the spikey-haired kid to act on his reflexes. But unfortunately, even the kid’s supernatural efforts weren’t enough to prevent the catastrophe, though the devil was thankful it somehow minimized the damaged. Because if Chris was only a second late in pressing the button for whatever f*****g remote for explosions he was holding, Naomi would’ve died.
And it pisses the devil off that he’s worried about her death more than he’s worried about his promotion.
And beneath the worries and anxieties, there’s rage. Liberty almost reduced the who
