I pushed his hands away, a flash of my natural territorialism breaking through the fog. "Stop."
"Don't be difficult," he countered, pushing my hands back down.
I grabbed his wrists, my grip tight enough to leave bruises. "I said stop."
Cyan yanked his hands free, his voice rising in pitch. "And I said don't be difficult! I'm trying to help you, you stubborn asshole!"
I tried to sit up, but the room did a violent 360-degree spin. I flopped back down onto the pillows, the ceiling swaying above me.
"See? You can't even sit up properly," Cyan said, returning to the buttons. "Just let me help you."
I kept pushing his hands away, being deliberately, childishly difficult. Because everything was fucked. Because Noah was gone, and the contract was dead, and I had looked into a mirror and seen a monster.
"Cassian, I swear to God," Cyan hissed, his frustration peaking. "If you don't stop fighting me, I'm going to punch you in the face."
