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“Portland.” My tone is heavy with distaste.

“What’s wrong with Portland?”

“It’s a city.” Tension fills my shoulders. “There’s murder and crime and bad people.”

Those pretty pink lips quake like he wants to laugh at me. “Okay, Grandpa.”

“Grandpa?”

“You sound like an old man.”

I don’t understand how pointing out the obvious dangers ages me. “You sound naive.”

Sasha’s happy expression dims. “I just want to be safe. Or … at least that’s what I like to tell myself.”

“How would moving to a dangerous city make you safe?”

“It’s easier to hide. To blend in.” He sets down the shirt he was working on. “I know that disappearing and keeping my head down is the smart thing to do.”

“I disagree.”

“Really?” He tips his head to the side, studying me. “Because it looks to me like you did the exact same thing. You didn’t run to a big city, but you did try to disappear. Isn’t that why you’re here?”

“I’m here because it allows me to protect myself.”

He blinks, eyes narrowing with curiosity. “What do you need to protect yourself from?”

My laugh is bitter. “Everything.”

The world is full of nightmares, and they might not kill you, but they’ll break you down bit by bit until you’re a shell of the person you were. It leaves scars so thick that they become armor, and instead of using the armor to try again, it becomes the thing you hide behind.

“Antonio killed someone,” he says. “Well, probably more than one person is my guess, but I have evidence of this one.”

I let the words sink in. “That’s why he’s after you.”

“Yes.”

“Then why haven’t you turned it in to the police?”

“I’m going to.” He nervously scratches at his thumb. “I was waiting until I’m in Portland to do it. Where he can’t get to me.”

“You’re scared of him.”

“Of course I am. He’ll kill me if he finds me.”

The memory of Antonio infects my mind. Being an outsider, I hated him on sight, but now he really does make me murderous. The things he did to Sasha, the way he’s made him afraid, I hope he comes here. I’m aching for it. With him, I wouldn’t hesitate.

“He’s never going to find you,” I promise Sasha.

“Well, let’s hope. Dying doesn’t sound like a fun time.”

Screaming … Bursts of blood … “It isn’t.”

His curiosity is back. “So that’s my story. What’s yours?”

“Mine?”

“Where are your parents? Why did you come to Wilde’s End? Why are you so set on protecting people and so suspicious of outsiders?”