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“Get some sleep,” she said. “I’ll be across the hall.”
Across the hall. Not beside me. Not in the bed with me. Six feet of hallway that meant exactly what the chair across the room had meant.
I lay back on a mattress I’d never slept on and stared at a ceiling I didn’t know. The wound throbbed with every heartbeat. The hives were still burning.
I’d told her the truth. Most of it.
The part I’d held back was worse than anything I’d said tonight. She thought the confession was over. She thought she’d heard the worst of it.
She hadn’t.
I closed my eyes. The safehouse hummed with sounds I didn’t know and couldn’t control.
I’d gotten through tonight. But the thing that would actually break us was still inside me, waiting.
