Fiona shrieked inwardly.
What he was saying made sense, yet she had not killed anyone. At least, she did not think she had.
"So you mean the scary madman would come after you and your family?" She jerked her head toward him, their voices barely above whispers.
He sat on the edge of the bed, her legs only inches away from his. "I did not kill him. You made me do it. All because I had to save a silly girl like you." He smirked. "So who do you think they would kill first?" He paused, then pointed at her before gesturing to himself. "The boss or the henchman?"
She glared at him. "Talking you into leaving is useless. I will take the bed, and you take the couch."
He stared at her with a twisted expression, raising a brow as if she had just spoken nonsense.
"You must still be having a nightmare."
She bit her lower lip. "I am tired and cannot argue with you. I will take the couch instead."
As she turned to move, he suddenly pulled her toward him. She landed against his chest as he lay back on the bed, holding her in place.
"Or we could share," he said smugly. "Our parents did teach us about sharing."
Fiona froze in shock. She tried to push herself up, but his grip tightened around her waist.
"Let go, weirdo," she muttered, struggling.
"Come on, skinny legs," he teased. "Do you not like sharing?"
"Okay, fine!" she snapped. "I will stay on the bed with you."
Satisfied, he released her. She quickly moved to the other side of the bed and lay down, keeping her distance.
"Is it not fun to share, skinny legs?" he mocked, settling comfortably and facing her while she turned her back to him.
"Just sleep," she said, closing her eyes. "We have school tomorrow."
"Do you not mean today?" he replied. "And how can I sleep when I might be killed?"
She knew he was only using the excuse to annoy her.
"Goodnight," she forced out.
"Do you not mean good morning?" He stared at her back, her hair tied neatly in a ponytail.
She ignored him.
Moments later, he shifted closer, his fingers brushing through her hair. Fiona's eyes flew open. Was he sick in the head?
"Twilight," she said sharply, her voice low but commanding.
"Yes?" he replied lazily, still playing with her hair.
"Leave my hair alone."
He stopped and stared up at the ceiling. "I do pity you sometimes," he said quietly. "The torture that awaits you is unfathomable."
Fiona turned to face him, questions written all over her face. "What do you mean by torture?"
He met her gaze, all humor gone. "As the chosen one, you will suffer."
"Chosen one of what?"
He lifted two fingers and gently pressed them above her eyes, closing them.
"Sleep."
This time, Fiona did not protest. She let her eyes remain shut and drifted off.