He works his way to my tailbone before stepping behind me. When the wand starts back up, I press my legs together and cringe. “No.”
“You have to stop saying no. You’re a ‘yes’ girl now. Always.”
“Please, I need a break.”
“Shhh.” I whine as he runs his scarred palm over my back. I can feel every mottled piece of flesh, every reminder that he lived a life before this one just as twisted, and for a minute, got what he deserved. “You need to be strong, Luna. Anyone can withstand anything for an hour at a time. That’s all you need. The strongest of all warriors are time and patience.”
I squint at the floor. “Are you seriously quotingTolstoyto me right now?”
Sawyer’s hand stills. The wand buzzes but doesn’t touch my body, not yet. I hold my breath with anticipation. When Sawyer huffs a laugh, I release it.
“Clever girl.” He shuts off the wand, but I’m too honed in on his voice to appreciate the sudden silence. Sadness burried beneath humor.
Sadness.
Why sadness?
He comes around to release my wrists while I try not to moan my relief.
He helps me off the contraption, holding my shoulders steady as I wobble.
When I meet his eyes, he gives me a small, kind smile like he isn’t the devil intent on torturing my soul. Sometimes, I think it’s fake. Other times, I’m afraid it’s real. I don’t think he knows how cruel he is—or that he believes he’s cruelat all.
But right now, it’s the concern in his eyes that unsettles me most.
“We’ll take a break,” he says, rubbing my shoulder. “We could both use some fresh air.”
I change into a white sweater dress he gives me—a supposed symbol of purity.
I’ve never felt more unclean.
CHAPTER 18
SAWYER
Iwas wrong to think the fresh air would help. It does nothing for my racing thoughts.
Luna’s hand locks with mine as we walk the path toward the Nurturer’s side of the compound, the sun high and warm in the sky despite her chilled fingers. Somewhere beyond the trees, people spread blankets and toss balls on open grass.
For once, I wish it would rain.
When a muscle tugs in my palm—sharp, involuntary—my fingers jump like puppets on a string. I clench my hand to mask it, squeezing Luna tighter than I mean to.
Instead of flinching or tugging away, she turns her head to look at me. I keep my eyes forward, fixed on the Nurturers’ compound.
Wooden cottages line up in neat rows, housing bundles of girls—allgirls—along with their surrogate mothers, women ingreen tasked with ‘bringing up the young’ so as not to distract biological parents from their roles.
Or, more likely, to prevent families from escaping together—children the ultimate tether for the disillusioned parents.
Sick.
Clever.
“What are you doing?”
I turn to Luna, brows pulled together.
She points to her mouth. “You’re like, chattering.”
