Page 69 of Into Pitch

“Over what?” I challenge.

He doesn’t answer me immediately. Instead, he studies me, as if weighing how much truth I can carry without tipping.

“Over consequence, instinct, and outcome.”

“That’s purposefully vague,” I fire back.

“It is.”

I sit forward in my seat, shoving my bowl aside and placing my elbows onto the table. Letting our eyes lock and hold.

“Why accept all of that then? You specifically.”

“Because I don’t believe in redemption.”

I blink.

How does that make sense?

“Are you—so you don’t believe people can change then?”

“I believe people adapt,” he reframes. “They refine and mask, but transformation implies becoming something new.”

My gaze narrows on him, because if he isn’t trying to change me in this cabin, then what exactly is he up to?

“I am exactly what I was always going to be,” He breathes out.

A chill skitters up my spine and sinks its teeth into the base of my skull. “And Pitch lets you be that.”

“It removes friction between thought and action.” He shrugs.

I rub at my brow, thinking over the time spent between running from the hell of those halls after the mirrors to this very moment.

“The man I spoke to—the one with the other Plague charm—he said his experience was different.”

“Yes, I suppose he did.” Alex murmurs.

“Why?”

“Why do you think?”

Fuck, these mental games he insists on playing.

“I don’t know, because you decided it would be?” I try.

“And what did I decide for you then?”

“I thought we already established that. I was interesting and wasn’t a threat.” I mutter.

“I guess we did.”

My jaw tightens, a new little spark igniting in my chest at that. “So you torture some and fuck others.”

A ghost of a smile curls at the edge of his mouth. “Crude, but not inaccurate.”

“How many have you fucked?”

Well, that was not the question I wanted to ask when comparing the two topics I had just asked about. But look at what had gone and come out, proving just how fucked my priorities really were when it came to Alex and all his crazy.