“Youkilledhim,” I bite out, harsher this time.
“Who?” His voice is calm. Bored.
I tug the bracelet off of my wrist, and hold it in my open palm, showing him the beaded bracelet.
His eyes seem so neutral when he looks at the item in my hand. His mask hides much of his face, but his eyes—they’re supposed to show sadness or regret or anger or anything. Anything but this indifference.
He doesn’t even care.
He probably doesn’t even remember him.
“This was in your box, in your nest. It was his, my friend, my—” I swallow. “You killed him,” I whisper again. My nostrils flare as I work to control my reaction.
He blinks twice but otherwise shows no new emotion.
“Tell me if it’s true,” I say because I can’t stand the silence. For one instant, I hope it’s not true. I hope he’ll tell me that boxwasn’t his. Or he found that bracelet on the ground, but he had nothing to do with the death of the boy I loved once upon a time.
“If this belonged to him and it was among my things, then yes, I killed him.”
The air is sucked from my lungs.
I never should have been in this situation. I never should have given him that piece of me. I was a prisoner. I was trapped.
I could have hated him, without this pain, if I hadn’t… I freely gave him a piece of my heart. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.
“I believed in you,” I say, more to myself than to him. Because what does he care?
I half expect him to laugh at me. What a foolish thing to say. What a ludicrous thing to think.
I used to think faith was what made me special. What drove me. What made life worth living beyond survival.
Hope is what destroyed me.
My shattered heart has nothing left to give. Nothing left but hate.
It’s fiery. Burning through my soul.
“Tell me how you killed him.”
My words linger in the darkness so long I think he’ll ignore them.
“You expect me to remember one of hundreds? What if I did cut him open like I cut her open?” He nods to the girl behind the bars.
And again, I want to die. I want to die with her.
I pull the bracelet against my chest. “Just kill me,” I beg, eyes staring blankly ahead.
He doesn’t move. He does not obey my request. Why would he? I am helpless here. There is no reason for him to do anything I ask.
My body stills. I have no more energy for crying or regret. My heart is torn open. Bleeding out like that girl at the bonfire. Sucked dry by these horrid creatures.
Is that how Lucca died?
“Kill me,” I say louder. “Devour me the way you devoured him.”
He leans in close. “No. When I devour you, Dove, it will be in a very different way.”
My lip curls in anger. How dare he flirt with me now after exposing the rot in his soul?
