She was trying to give me back to everyone else because Destiny had always had more decency than the world gave her credit for.
Then her lips touched my knuckles.
I knew that.
Not a dream.
Not death.
That I knew.
A soft press of warmth to scarred skin. A kiss that asked for nothing and took everything anyway.
“You are not allowed to die,” she whispered.
I followed her voice.
Not because I deserved it.
Because I was weak.
Because I was selfish.
Because I loved her.
Then another sound entered the room.
A door.
A breath.
A silence that was not empty.
Destiny’s hand left mine.
Cold rushed in.
A different voice.
Soft.
Broken.
“How long have you loved him?”
Georgia.
The dark twisted.
No.
No, no, no.
Not both.
Not in the same room.
Not with me unable to speak, unable to stop the damage, unable to be anything but the broken man they were fighting over.
