Then fear of a different sort fills me instead.
The lighting is lime green, like uncanny, one-color Christmas lights. As Sullen’s fingers tighten on my wrist and we draw closer, I note the small, bullet-shaped bulbs entwined along what looks like an iron grate all along the ceiling. I don’t know what it’s for, but it throws an eerie, otherworldly glow over Sullen’s dark hair, tinting it a deep emerald.
Then a gasp leaves my lips.
My feet falter.
He tugs me along and I stumble forward, but when he realizes I’ve stopped, he does, too.
Sanford is behind me. I can feel his presence.
Or… I can feelapresence.
But it doesn’t matter.
The shiver ghosting across my throat has nothing to do with the reality or delusion of Sanford Rule.
My gaze is captured by Sullen’s back.
Six piercings along the top of his spine. Jagged, pearly wounds of white ringed around them, as if someone twisted the metal, widening the circumference. But there are worse things, too. A long, wide gash lower, as if over his kidneys. Burn marks like the frayed edges of paper. And there are words carved into the middle of his spine that I can’t quite read and?—
He realizes what I am doing.
He jerks me closer.
I slide forward, my Vans shuffling over cement filled with sand and dirt.
I brace myself with my palms, his bare chest beneath my fingertips for the very first time. His skin is cool, firm with muscle, but rough from horrors.
And the scent of pennies is stronger.
Stabbed,Stein said.
He was stabbed.
Worry makes my stomach swoop and I drop my gaze from his dark eyes, wanting to inspect every inch of him for his own safety, but he lifts his hand to my face, and I think of Stein, and I… wince.
He doesn’t hit me.
Of course he doesn’t.
For all of his snuff threats, he doesn’t follow through.
But I remember the dead guard, Sullen’s hands wrapped around his throat.
Well,I amend inside my head,he doesn’t follow through withme.
His palm cradles my jaw, my cheek, his fingers spanning over half of my face as he finally fully touches me, like he was afraid to as I flinched.
I lift my gaze to his in the glow of green, a shower of verdant above us.
His complexion is sickly, and I don’t know if it’s the lighting, or what his father did to him. His full lips are parted, a sheen of sweat is between his dark brows, and my bonesache,wanting to heal him despite the fact I do not know how.
My wrist is in the unyielding grip of his other hand, and I am immobilized as he stares at me.
“You think I would hurt you?” he asks quietly, his voice hoarse and faint. There is a far-away quality to it that frightens me.
My heart notices, slamming brutally against my ribcage. If I wasn’t so concerned for his health, I might point out the fact that he has threatened to hurt me many times. Instead, all I can manage is, “Where did he stab you? We need to get you help. You need?—”
