Reality slowly bleeds back in. I’m in my bedroom. The nightmare wasn’t real. And Kain is holding me, rocking me gently, murmuring comfort into my hair.
But I locked the door.
“How did you—”
“You were screaming. I broke the lock.” His arms tighten around me. “I couldn’t stay away when I thought you were in danger.”
I should push him away. Should grab the knife and order him back to the couch.
But I’m so tired. So broken. And his arms feel safe in a way nothing else has since I heard him on that call. I find my fingers fisting in his shirt despite my wanting nothing to do with him.
I let him hold me while I cry into his chest, while the sobs wrack my body, while everything I’ve been holding in pours out in violent waves.
I hate myself for being so weak around him.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers in my ear. “I’m so sorry, Anne. For everything. For all of it.”
I don’t respond. I can’t.
I just cry. And through it all, he holds me.
Like he used to.
Like he still has that right.
Chapter Twenty-One
Kain
She’s shaking in my arms, her tears soaking through my shirt, and I know I don’t deserve to hold her like this.
But I can’t let go.
“You shouldn’t have come in here!” Her voice is muffled against my chest, broken. “I told you to stay in the living room.”
“Anne, please, let me explain everything. Let me tell you what happened.”
“I don’t want to hear it.” She tries to pull away, but I hold on tighter.
“Please?” My voice cracks, and I feel tears streaming down my own face. I can’t remember the last time I cried. Maybe not since the first year in that place. “I know I don’t deserve it. I know you have every right to hate me. But please, Anne, just listen.”
She stares at me, and something she sees—maybe my tears, maybe my desperation—makes her hesitate.
“Okay,” she finally whispers. “Tell me.”
I take a shuddering breath, trying to find the right words. How do I explain ten years of systematic torture? How do I make her understand without sounding like I’m making excuses?
“The amnesia was a lie,” I start. “So that I could complete my mission. The organization Darius mentioned—they sent me back here to capture Violet, and I had to maintain my cover.”
She flinches at the confirmation, even though she already knew.
“Why didn’t you just stop?” Her voice is raw. “Once you were here, why didn’t you turn against them?”
“Because they made it impossible. Let me show you.”
I release her and pull off my shirt.
She has probably noticed some of them before, of course, but Anne’s breath catches as I show her the full extent of my scars. They cover my torso, my back, my arms. A roadmap of torture etched permanently into my skin.
