Havoc set down the figure.
“Dresner doesn’t just break people, Clare. He perfects the process. Refines it. Studies what works and what doesn’t like we’re experiments instead of humans.” His voice went cold. Flat. “Some of us remember enough to know what we lost. Most don’t. I’m somewhere in the middle, and that’s the worst possible kind of torture.”
The bitterness in those words made my throat ache.
“That’s why you want him dead.”
“That’s why I want him to burn.” Havoc picked up the blade again. Didn’t resume. “Hellhound thinks we can save everyone, give them new lives, help them heal. Maybe he’s right about some of them. But Dresner?” His knuckles whitened around the handle. “He doesn’t get redemption. He doesn’t get a trial. He gets my hands around his throat and whatever comes after that.”
The fury beneath those words felt volcanic. Personal.
“What did he take from you specifically?”
Havoc’s jaw tightened. “Nothing I’m discussing with you.”
“Fair enough.”
I didn’t push. Whatever Dresner had done to Havoc ran deeper than conditioning or memory loss. Something that left scars on his very soul.
The quiet between us shifted, not uncomfortable, heavy with things neither of us wanted to examine.
Behind me, the axe stopped.
I turned. Xavier stood with the blade hanging in his grip, watching us. Sweat darkened his thermal shirt despite the cold. His expression was unreadable, except for the intensity when he found me.
Havoc noticed. Grinned. “Your guard dog is getting jealous.”
“Shut up.”
“I’m just saying, if looks could kill...”
“They can. And if you keep talking, you’ll find out exactly how lethal he is.”
Havoc laughed. Actually laughed. “I like you more every conversation.”
Xavier crossed the distance between us in four long strides. He didn’t acknowledge Havoc. Didn’t acknowledge the comment. Just kept watching me.
Just held me like I might disappear if he let go.
Havoc stood, brushing shavings from his jeans. “I’ll leave you two alone. Walls are thin, remember? Try to keep it down next time.”
He walked away before I could throw something at him.
Xavier’s hand came up, fingers threading through my hair with careful gentleness.
His mouth moved. Formed my name.
“Clare.”
The word came rough. Raspy. Like gravel and broken glass. But it was there, real, spoken.
My ribs compressed. “You’re starting to get it back.”
Xavier’s gaze widened slightly. He opened his mouth again. Tried.
“C...” The sound caught. Broke. He swallowed hard. Tried again. “Clare.”
Rough as gravel. Barely more than a rasp. But real.
