Avery's smile falters and he shifts in his seat. "Please. You're already dead. Do you honestly think I wouldn't just drag your soul out to work for me if it came to it? Like I'd let you even think of wandering off on your own."

It doesn't sound right. The words taste a little sour (freezing cold), but even the thought of putting it another way feels like needles driving into his skin. Héctor may be screwed up so bad that he feels the need to please everyone and everything he comes across at the moment, but not Avery.

(Never again.)

The only thing he needs to worry about is getting this stubborn fool back to normal.