I scooped up some bubbles and blew them across the bathroom. They popped in the light.
Silence stretched.
Augustus made a strange noise.
A washcloth splattered suds across the floor as Kharon dropped it.
I turned to look at them.
A single bloody tear streaked down Augustus’s face, and Kharon’s jaw was clenched so tightly his face was turning purple.
“It’s over now,” I said calmly, raising up my hands. “It’s okay—it’s in the past. I’m not what they made me …Imade me.”
The truth of it settled into my chest.
I smiled with relief.
“No,” Kharon said vehemently, his voice echoing like a gunshot.
Augustus shook his head.
“No,” Kharon repeated.
“No, it’s not,” echoed through my mind.
“It’s fine.” I reached for them.
Augustus grabbed my wrist and turned it over, he unhooked the golden cuff I always wore, and it clattered to the marble floor.
“And … this?” Augustus asked aloud as he traced his thumb gently over the layers of old scars. They crisscrossed with new ones.
I stared at the ruined skin, feeling numb.
“My foster father tied me up with a rope as a child.” My voice was neutral. I shrugged casually. “I was young and desperate, and I fractured my wrists against a rock pulling myself free.”
Augustus released my arm.
“I should have just dislocated my thumbs, but I was so young and hungry, it …”
I trailed off as Augustus and Kharon both stood, stepped out of the tub, and left the bathroom. Buckles clicked as they dressed quickly.
“Uh—what are you doing?” I stumbled out of the tub and picked up a robe, pulling it on.
A safety clicked.
Kharon palmed two guns.
Augustus sheathed a wickedly sharp hunting knife into a holster in his sweatpants.
They nodded at each other and left the room.
For a second, I blinked in disbelief, then I sprinted after them.
“Wait!”
A few minutes later I stumbled to the bottom of the stairs and gasped with my hands on my knees; cardio had never been my strong suit, and they moved ridiculously fast. “What are we doing in this stupid dungeon?”
“Vengeance.” Kharon’s voice warped with rage.
