"It would be nice not to have to be looking over my shoulder all the time," he acknowledged. "And to see your hair in the sunlight." He glanced away as though embarrassed at the sentimentality of that He made no assurances, which might have been more promising than if he did. "Good-bye, Kerry. In the future, be careful whom you rescue."
"Good-bye, Ethan," she said.
"Michel," he corrected, and because he gave it the French pronunciation, she thought maybe it was his real name.
It was more encouraging than any of his honestlys or trulys.
"Good-bye, Michel," she said. She walked down the stairs, past Marsala's body, and out the door, heading for home.
Vivian Vande Velde, Companions of the Night
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