The Shadows That Listen

Book 1: Angel Ruin

by Louisa Carmody

Genres: Paranormal; Romantic Fantasy; Dystopian

Synopsis

DISCOVER THE ANGELS VS DEMONS DYSTOPIAN ROMANTASY SENSATION

WHO WILL SURVIVE THE NIGHT?

The Shadows that Listen is an unputdownable dystopian romantasy with a delicious slow burn romance, from debut author Louisa Carmody. Perfect for fans of Crescent City and Shadowhunters.

It's been five years since the world was brought to its knees by an immortal war. Daemons crawled from the depths of hell and the sky bled gold as the angels arrived. Humanity thought it was saved, but the angels did not come to protect us.

Amara is a human warrior working for the Angel Intelligence Agency. She spends her days searching for those who don't make it home after curfew. But when her boyfriend Jeremy goes missing, she decides to venture into the shadows to bring him back. Even if it means death.

Nathaniel is an archangel tasked with leading the destruction of humanity, for which he cares little. He doesn't have time to protect little humans running around in the dark, especially those who stab him in the stomach.

But Nathaniel and Amara will soon realise they share a foe, one that lurks in the shadows and stalks them from the skies. She might long to kill him, but Amara knows that having an angel at her side is the only way to find the man she loves.

The shadows lengthen. They listen. Who will survive the night?

See why readers are obsessed with The Shadows That Listen:

"The slow burn will they won't they romance was torture." ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

"I refused to go to sleep because I couldn't stop reading!" ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

"This book got me out of a reading slump, I read it in two days and can't stop thinking about it." ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

Release date: September 9, 2025

Publisher: Orbit

Print pages: 448

Sample

I never thought I’d live in a world where wearing a watch could mean the difference between life and death.

Most people have an alarm set every ten minutes from five o’clock onwards. Each one acts as a reminder of the impending curfew. It’s become near impossible to lose track of time. Between the hourly mass text alerts from the Angel Intelligence Agency and everyone’s personal alarms, if someone doesn’t make it home, it’s typically because they’re dead.

It was hard to adjust to at first, but now the nightly routine has become mundane, as if the song that sings when the mechanisms tick over isn’t something new to this world. As if the world before never existed at all.

The sound of locks ticking over and sealing shut every window and door in the building rings through our apartment.

I turn the dial on the radio to drown out the reality of the new world. Every night at six o’clock and not a second later, each residence in the city shuts off to the world for their own protection. It’s a necessary evil, the only way we could find some normality. Some feeling of safety, however misguided it may be.

As usual, I’m tucked away in the kitchen, listening to the reruns radio station, which currently plays one of my favourite songs. The melody floats over me while I dance and sing, every thought of curfew quickly slipping away. The smell of marinara sauce fills the air, one of our weekly meals on rotation. There’s not a lot of choice when it comes to food anymore. Things are better here in the city now that they’ve built hydro farms to keep producing natural foods, but humanity hasn’t had the taste of meat since we shut our borders.

I haven’t been past the border of the city in over two years. There’s been no need since the lockdowns were introduced and we stopped fighting. I’ve heard rumours of how bad it still is out there, but nobody has seen it and lived to tell the tale.

When the remaining world leaders established the Angel Intelligence Agency and introduced the lockdown laws two years ago, it took time to adjust. Eventually I stopped thinking about what it was like before. It began to feel as if it had always been this way. As long as I tune out the lockdown at six, it just feels normal.

I hardly remember what it used to be like to go out at night. To go to bars and restaurants, or even just for a walk by the water. It feels like a whole other lifetime.

As I scream-sing along to the song in what can only be described as a dying cat–like pitch, Jeremy leans against the kitchen doorway, smirking at me with amusement. I ignore the very obvious look of pain on his face and continue to sing.

“This is really good stuff,” he says. “We should record these moments so that we can remember the time before you became famous.”

Fighting off an eye-roll, I prowl towards him with a wooden spoon microphone in one hand, pointing at him with the other. “You’ll need that footage to remember me, because with that attitude, I’ll be leaving you behind.”

Standing in front of him now, I bring my finger up to his chest, tracing along his collarbone lightly. Jeremy inhales a sharp breath and shudders, but the expression on his face never wavers.

I drop my hand and pretend the spoon is now a guitar, strumming it to the beat.

His low giggle tugs at my heartstrings. My favourite sound. The music fades, and I stop dancing to instead fling my arms around his neck.

His golden hair falls in short curls over his forehead, casting a boyish look over his face. He stands in the shadows, looking down at me with a wide grin, his long, dark lashes making the blue in his eyes more vibrant. “You wouldn’t really leave this behind. You’d be so bored without me to make fun of.” He tucks a piece of hair behind my ear, but a golden strand falls in front of my eyes.

“You just make it so easy for me.” I move my hands from his neck to his chest, his muscles flexing beneath my touch. For a moment, I lose myself in the man.

I’m dragged back to reality almost instantly as the music on the radio is interrupted by a familiar voice. “In hopeful pursuit of those lost after dark,” the radio host begins, as he does every night at six-thirty.

I tear myself from Jeremy and the second of normalcy, quickly walking over to the counter where the radio sits. I flip my pen around my hand again and again while I wait.

“Ben Mumford, Sadie Smith, James Cromwell, Alma Munroe, Jared Hayes, Damien Adair.” I scribble the names down quickly, jotting a number next to each of them.

I’ve always believed that a person’s name holds great meaning, that it’s like a window into the soul. Every night that I write down their names, I wonder if the people are worthy of them. I wonder if Damien is fierce, if he will be able to fight off the creatures of the night. I wonder if Alma is kind, if she has loved ones who will grieve her inevitable death.

I wonder if any of them have felt a moment of hope in the past five years, or if they somehow knew they’d end up lost to the dark.

I will never forget the day the war began. It’s inked into my mind like a tattoo, as it is for every survivor.

The ground tore open, leaving scars across the world and causing seismic events. Tsunamis, earthquakes, volcanic eruptions – you name it and I can guarantee that it happened. Out of the cracks in the earth crawled terrifying creatures straight from hell, and from the sky fell men and women who looked like gods. Angels.

We held hope, if only for a moment. We thought the angels were here to save us. But they weren’t our saviours, and they’re certainly not our guardians.

Death and destruction followed. Cities fell. Those who didn’t die in the arrival ran for their lives. Daemons began to feed on humans, taking out a large portion of the population. The angels didn’t actively hunt us at first, but they showed no care about collateral damage. As soon as we started to fight back, the winged gods started to kill us for sport. It was as if they were offended by our audacity to fight for survival, and in retaliation they killed any human who dared to enter their line of sight.

I can still see heads being ripped clean off bodies as a large, thistle-winged angel flew through the city, wreaking havoc. That’s when we knew we had no hope of winning this war.

After three years of enduring the destruction of our world, the remaining world leaders came to some sort of deal with the angels. The day would belong to the humans; the night would be left for the war between heaven and hell to continue. If a human was out after lockdown, they’d become fair game.

Luckily daemons are nocturnal, so there were no negotiations needed there. The angels reluctantly agreed – something about not wanting to have to restart the human population once the war was over. Essentially, they let us live due to laziness.

“If any of you are listening,” says the voice on the radio, “those who love you want you to know that they will never stop looking for you. Stay safe after dark, everyone.”

I scan the list as the music resumes and the radio host’s voice fades away. Damien Adair: number ten thousand, five hundred and six. Ten thousand, five hundred and six people have gone missing from our city in less than two years – though the hotline only started a year ago, which means that the real number is at least double.

I flick through the list, counting how many names have been crossed off as found. The ratio of lost to found is not in our favour, not even in the slightest.

“I don’t know why you do this every night.” Jeremy slips his arms around my waist. “You can’t find everyone.”

I turn in his hold to face him. “Should I just not try instead?”

He lets out a soft sigh and places a gentle kiss on my forehead. “You wouldn’t be you if you didn’t.” He gives me a soft smile. “Always so determined.”

My laugh is devoid of humour. “You mean stubborn?”

His thumb traces the line of my jaw. “You said it, not me.”

Jeremy has always had such a soft touch for a man who looks like a Viking. When we met, I thought he was going to be another egotistical douchebag who only cared about himself. The second he opened his mouth, I knew I was wrong. His selflessness is the reason I fell so quickly. He cares more about others than himself.

My hands find their way to his face and hook around his neck, pulling him in until our lips meet. I relish the sensation of the softness of his lips placing a tender kiss to mine. He's kissed me like a thousand this before, with such affection and love that it almost consumes me. Every time he does my stomach flutters and my fingers tingle. They move from his neck down his arms and then intertwine with his.

In moments like this it's like everything around us seems to fade away. There's nothing but the sound of my heart beating in my chest and his deep breaths in between kisses. We don't need to speak a word to each other to know what it means. I love you. We're safe behind these walls. We're together and that's all that matters. When his lips linger against mine I give up a little bit more of myself, slowly chipping away at the walls that barricaded me as a child.

When we eventually pull away and my eyes meet his, a soft smile plays on my lips. Worlds he makes me happy. It's a feeling I never truly get used to, something so foreign to me. I lean into him once more, wanting to savour every second of this feeling of peace before the chaos finds us again.

The piercing sound of ringing fills the room, tearing us away from each other. Cursing, I quickly reach for my phone. An image of Xavier messily devouring a hot dog fills the screen. I consider ignoring it and staying in the moment with the man I love.

“Answer it.” Jeremy’s voice breaks through my thoughts. “Otherwise you’ll never hear the end of it.” He smiles and squeezes my shoulder gently before walking back towards the kitchen.

I let out a short sigh and wait until Jeremy is out of earshot before I answer, “This better be good.”

“Amara?” Xavier’s breaths are short and choppy as he pants into the phone.

I frown. Perhaps he didn’t call just to gossip about our day at work. “X? What’s going on?”

It sounds like he drops his phone, and for a moment all I can hear is a few muttered curses in the distance before the sound of fumbling. “You there, Mara?”

“Yeah, I’m here. What’s going on?”

He’s silent for so long that I worry I’ve lost him. As I start to ask if he’s still there, my words are cut off by his.

“They’re making us go back out in the field.”

As Jeremy makes me coffee and toast for breakfast like he always does, I stand at our wardrobe, staring at the Angel Intelligence Agency field uniform gathering dust. The uniforms were issued to us years ago when the curfew was announced in case the AIA needed field agents sent out after dark. After a few trial nights and dozens of missing agents, the after-hours program was quickly scrapped.

Every morning I stare at this uniform and wonder if I’ll have to wear it again, but today, the knowledge that it’s coming out of retirement looms over me. Xavier couldn’t explain any further; he practically hung up on me two seconds after telling me that we’re going to be sent out after curfew again. That we’re essentially being sentenced to death. All he could say was that there have been some revelations and the world leaders have made their decision. That it’s out of his control.

Something has happened, I just don’t know what. They know that we can’t win this war – we can hardly even defend ourselves. So why else would they make this decision?

The patrol trial period led to a massacre of AIA agents, but there was one survivor. Archer Kilpatrick.

Archer was found in an alleyway by the border of the city, holding his gun to his chest like a teddy bear and rocking back and forth. He was covered in blood, but it wasn’t his own.

Archer’s unit had stumbled into the midst of an angel battle, and after the angels had slain the daemons, they’d killed every last one of his team. Except for Archer. They had left him alive as a message to the AIA: they are not our allies, and if we get in their way, we’re dead.

After that, we all became desk agents.

And Archer was found dead in his home, having taken his own life.

I’m not supposed to know any of this. I don’t have nearly enough clearance as an agent or even as a former specialist. The only reason I’ve been given a heads-up is because my best friend is the director of the AIA.

So instead of throwing on my field uniform and going straight into soldier mode, I pull out a pair of navy trousers and matching blazer. I pair it with a white button-up shirt and white heels.

It took me a while to get used to the corporate look. I was much more accustomed to heavy armour and military uniforms, but now there’s no need. Anyone would look at me on the street and think that I’m a lawyer, not a soldier.

I straighten my blazer and pull my chocolate-brown hair back into a sleek low bun. The dull golden streaks scattered through it shine brighter in the morning sun. Even though they match my eyes, I’ve been asked if they’re real so many times that I’ve lost count.

I lean in closer to the mirror and examine the rest of my face, tossing up whether or not to put any makeup on. My freckles are out in full force today, and I’d need quite a bit of foundation to cover them up.

“Worlds, I’m a lucky man.” Jeremy leans against the bathroom doorway with a smile that spreads from ear to ear.

My eyes roll and I turn back to fuss with my hair in the mirror. “Someone hand me a bucket, I’m gonna puke.” Despite my constant rejection of his compliments, they still fill me with warmth. It’s a love that I’ve never experienced, a man who has devoted himself to me completely. A man who makes me feel completely at ease.

After Xavier ruined our moment of romance last night, I lied to Jeremy that I was exhausted and headed to bed. I can’t tell him what Xavier said, not until I know more. It will only make him worry.

Jeremy’s hands rest on either side of my waist and he tugs me in for a kiss. As he pulls away, he brings his hands up to trace the lines of my face. “What do you think things would be like for us if we weren’t living in this world?”

I flinch away from his touch, his question both surprising me and sending a twang of guilt through me. Jeremy and I never talk about things like that. We don’t dwell on the world before. And now that I’m being sent out into the field, there’s not likely to ever be a future.

“What do you mean?” I ask.

He tilts his head, his hands hovering next to my face before he drops them. “Do you think we’d get married?”

I step out of his hold and glance at my watch. I’m going to be late for work. Usually I wouldn’t care, but today is different. Today I need every second of extra training I can get, but I can’t say that to him.

I walk over to the bed and begin to throw items into my bag as if I’m in a rush. I laugh, but it comes out strained. “Where’s this coming from?”

Jeremy moves to stand behind me, but stops a few inches away. “It’s not a new thought, Amara. Putting a ring on your finger is the first thing I’d do if we weren’t in the midst of a war.” He reaches out and places a hand on my shoulder.

I freeze, everything inside of me starting to shut down. My heart thumps and my skin grows cold.

I distance myself from him, skirting around to the other side of the bed. I can see a frown forming on his face, but I ignore it. “But we are in the midst of a war. One that’s not going to end anytime soon.”

“That doesn’t mean we can’t imagine what it would be like if it did. That doesn’t mean I don’t wish things could be different for us.”

I shake my head. “I just don’t see the point in fantasising over something that will never happen.”

I love Jeremy, I do, but I’ve never thought about anything more than today. The word marriage coming from his lips doesn’t feel like a promise of eternal love, but rather a cage. I’ve never imagined our future and what it would look like; and now it fills me with an anxiety like no other. I just don’t know why.

Shadows cast over his eyes, making him appear tortured. “Because it can’t, or because you don’t want it to?” The shadows seem to shift as he does, following his every move. His expression is sombre now, the realisation dawning on him at the same time that it does me.

Even if this wasn’t our reality, I wouldn’t marry him.

I’ve never been more grateful to have Xavier in my life. He called at the perfect time to pull me out of the hole I was digging myself into. Apparently training was moved forward and I needed to haul my ass to work or I’d have to run laps for the entire session. Jeremy gave me a smile as if to say he understood, but there was nothing but heartbreak behind it.

He still holds my hand as we walk to work, moving his thumb back and forth on mine reassuringly. The silence between us grows and our usual banter is replaced with the occasional sideways glance.

I wish I could tell him that he brought up marriage at the absolute worst time – that my reaction wasn’t necessarily out of uncertainty about him, but about my own fate. My heart races at the thought of returning to the field, but not just in fear; in anticipation.

It’s an oddly warm day for the start of autumn. The sun tingles along my skin as we walk through the remnants of the old city. Despite the fact that we cross these streets every day, this part of the city never fails to startle me. It’s as beautiful as it is haunting. The condemned buildings that couldn’t be rescued after the war have become something of a work of art.

Layers of bright green moss grow over the bones of the broken buildings. Every sharp edge is softened by it. Creeper vines hold what’s left of the city together. Sand flows through the cracks of the doors, and as we walk past each structure, I peer through the windows to see it piled within them. Trees grow where fire hydrants used to be, curling up and over the edges of the old world.

It’s my favourite part of our morning walk, but its beauty is a painful reminder of what the world almost became. What is likely to be our future.

After three years of brutal war, we had room to breathe. The deal that was struck with the angels gave us a chance to rebuild and prepare. We spent our days not only repairing the cracks within humanity and creating a safe haven for ourselves, but better arming ourselves against the creatures of the other worlds.

When the major cities were revived, so were the means of transportation. Mechanics were in high demand, repairing cars that had been idle for years, wiring trains to operate without drivers. We needed a way to transport supplies between the cities, and we needed to do so without endangering our own.

Jeremy and I prefer to walk to work. He claims that it’s good cardio, and I agree without argument. My reasoning, however, is that I enjoy the daily reminder.

When we reach the AIA, Jeremy places a soft kiss on my cheek. “I’ll see you at five.”

I offer him a small smile. “Don’t be late.”

It’s the same goodbye we’ve said every day for nearly two years. Every day has been the same. He walks me to work, kisses me on the cheek, and tells me not to be late. Every evening I cook dinner, he cleans dishes, and I take note of those who didn’t make it home before curfew. Sleep, rinse, repeat.

Walking into the AIA office is always the same, too. People nod and smile, but it never reaches their eyes. Each one of us feels the same thing: discontent.

Most agents come from a military background, which means that we aren’t trained to sit at a desk and look through security footage all day.

If I’m completely honest with myself, I miss the action. It feels as if we’ve just rolled over and given up. Fighting has always given me a purpose in a life where I’ve never had one. Now that we’re being sent back into the field, I can’t tell if I feel more afraid or excited.

We start every morning with daemon combat training, despite none of us having seen a daemon in years. This is exactly what we’ve been preparing for, told that we need to keep our skills sharp in case the agreement with the angels goes south. Maybe that’s what has happened. Maybe the angels decided they don’t want to cooperate with us any longer.

For once, I’m the first one in the training room – a large poorly lit space with concrete walls coated in blood, sweat and tears. It's a plain room with no natural light or colour to be found. I sit down on the mat and begin to stretch, something I usually miss out on due to my “poor time management skills”.

Weapons are scattered around the room in a fashion that would appear random at first glance, but each one has a specific purpose and has been carefully placed where it will be best utilised during training exercises. The room was built with projectors fitted along the walls to recreate the conditions of the world outside the border of the city. A virtual reality where we can practise fighting daemons amongst the chaos.

Instructors observe and direct the training exercises from the dais at the front of the room. Each of them come from military background and were the first on the battlefield when the other worlds arrived. The soldiers who survived against the first wave of death and destruction came here to teach and prepare us for the worst-case scenario.

In the years since the war begun the AIA has worked tirelessly to perfect new weapons designed specifically for killing daemons. We train with them to kill the creatures in the most efficient way possible in any potential situation. Having fought them in the real world, I know how different it is when you know for sure that your life is on the line and a starved creature from hell is draining your body of warmth.

Each unit is made up of ten members, each with their own specialisation and ranking. Xavier is my unit’s lead and, as of recently, the director of the AIA. Much to my dismay, as the last director met a very bleak end.

We stopped training to fight angels when the military dissolved and became the AIA, at the same time the lockdowns commenced. We quickly realised that, as a race, there is no way for us to win a fight with an angel and live to tell the tale. We went into the war with guns blazing, and the bullets couldn’t even pierce the creatures’ skin. Then we moved onto C-4 – that’s when we realised we were well and truly not equipped to win this war. We watched as towering wings spread out in fury, angels stepping out of the smoke.

“Well, don’t you look deep in thought this morning?” Xavier’s chirpy voice snaps me out of my trance. “The boy toy getting too much for you?”

His dark hair sits in tight curls on his head. Yesterday he told me that he’s going to grow it long so that he can have a ponytail, to which I responded that he just wants to look more like me. A cheeky smirk is planted firm on his face as he sits down next to me on the warm-up mat. I don’t remember the last time he didn’t have that look on his face. Sometimes I’d just love to punch the smile right off him. But Xavier’s smile has always had a hold on me: boyish, charming, and cheeky all at once. He could make anyone melt. His forest-green eyes, shielded by heavy lashes, have won the hearts of many.

Chuckling, I shove him in the side hard enough to make him sway and almost fall over. “Not yet, but we’re thinking about introducing a third – you know, to spice things up a bit. You interested?” I wiggle my eyebrows at him.

Xavier scoffs in disbelief. “You two couldn’t handle me, and I know that for a fact.”

He’s right. I know a small percentage of what he gets up to behind closed doors, and I don’t think either of us could keep up with that.

I’ve known Xavier longer than anyone else in my life. We met on our first day of training for the army. He made an inappropriate joke about our commanding officer that landed him a thousand push-ups. I knew in that moment that he and I were going to get on very well. Having grown up in foster homes since the age of two, he's the closest thing I have to family.

I was with him when this all started. We were at his mother’s house having lunch. The ground split in two right down the street. Daemons began to crawl from the depths of hell. Xavier and I went into soldier mode immediately, prepared to run straight into battle.

Then the angels landed and we thought we were saved. Countless depictions of angels show them as saviours and guardians, and that’s what we thought they were. Then one of them ripped out Xavier’s mother’s throat without flinching.

From that moment, we were at war.

“I can’t believe they’re sending us back into the field,” I whisper as the image of the murderous angel fills my mind. It’s a moment I’ve replayed time and time again, reminding myself that despite their cooperation, they’re not our guardians. They’re nothing but murderers.

Xavier looks around to check if anyone is within earshot. “Remember, you’re not supposed to know. I had a meeting with the leaders yesterday.” He pauses, a shadow casting over his face. “They don’t want to send us back out, but… the angels are no longer cooperating.”

I go still as it sinks in. I expected this. I knew the only reason they’d send us back out would be because the deal fell through. But hearing Xavier say it makes the reality all the more terrifying. Not because we have to fight again, not because we’re being put back in the field, but because this means that small sense of normalcy is gone forever.

We will never win this war.

This is the start of the end of our world.

“Jones, Williams. In the ring.” Captain Moore’s voice echoes through the room, pulling me away from the bleak pit my mind drifted off to. Xavier’s face says that his train of thought was not dissimilar.

When it comes to sparring sessions, Xavier and I always fight each other first. We like to get extra aggressive before switching to other partners and toning it down a little. We find great amusement in the looks on our colleagues’ faces when we both walk away from the ring salivating blood.

“Are you ready to get your ass kicked?” My lips curve and my brows rise, a feeble attempt to lighten the heaviness that’s settled over our conversation.

We square up in the ring, Xavier standing tall as always to “assert his dominance” or something equally ridiculous. At six foot three inches, he’s nearly a foot taller than me, and worlds, does he love to remind me of it.

Being as vertically challenged as I am means that my opponent is almost always larger and stronger than me, but that’s how I’ve always trained to fight. I’ve had to invest more time into every aspect of training: lifting weights, making sure my technique is perfect, and, most importantly, increasing my speed. Though most think my size puts me at a disadvantage, that’s ironically what makes it the opposite. People underestimate me; they always have. I’m quicker than most, but the best weapon I have is that fighting is all I know.

We don't hesitate before both lunging forward, our first punches perfectly in rhythm with each other. Xavier and I have fought together a thousand times before, and it's hard for one of us to gain the upper hand. We switch up our fighting style and move with a grace and force meant to test each other. We look for flaws in the other’s movements, predictability. Our sparring time is mostly just to force ourselves to fight differently and use techniques we normally wouldn’t.

Xavier feints to the left, before throwing a right hook. I expect it and block before landing several punches to his abdomen. Xavier staggers back, but quickly regains his balance and lunges forward again.

For a while we continue to exchange brutal blows, neither able to to gain the upper hand. When Xavier kicks my side, I stumble and hiss at the shooting pain through my ribcage. I growl in frustration and kick backwards. He manages to swivel out of the way with just a moment to spare and drives his elbow into my ribs as he passes by.

I groan in pain, but I don’t let my step falter. I throw a series of quick jabs to his face, and though he blocks most of them, I move relentlessly and drive him backward.

I switch to driving my knee with brute force into his abdomen. It only takes one moment for Xavier’s step falters before I take that opportunity to sweep my leg under his feet and knock him to the ground.

I don’t give him even a second to roll to his feet. I drop to my knees, straddling him. Simultaneously, I draw my blade from my belt, holding it at his throat and declaring victory to all the horrified onlookers.

Xavier groans and raises his hands above his head in surrender. A feral smile tugs at my lips as I stare down at him. I’ve always loved to win.

“You two are fucking insane,” I hear Captain Moore mutter behind us. “How you haven’t accidentally killed each other is beyond me.”

I tuck my blade back into my belt and roll off my friend. Blood drips from Xavier’s nose and my mouth. We both look like we’re on death’s door.

I push up to my feet and hold my hand out to Xavier. “Better luck next time, champ.” I wink at him as he takes my hand.

Xavier shoves me to the side and shoots me a death glare. “Piss off o