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15

Jon

H annah’s living room was a testament to her penchant for local art. Canvases ranging from palm-sized to four feet wide hung on every inch of wall space—eclectic abstracts, colorful nudes, and landscapes of marshes and bayous. The room was a mismatch of decades-old wallpaper and thrifted furniture. Vintage stained glass lamps perched on end tables crowded with picture frames, housing a seemingly endless array of family moments. Many of them were of Gwen and Hannah, but a large portion showcased Hannah’s expansive family. I wondered wryly if Hannah kept all these pictures around just to keep track of everyone. To me, having so much family alive and well and speaking to each other was a small miracle.

I barely noticed Hannah’s unusually clipped voice as she promised coffee and ushered us to make ourselves comfortable. My mind still raced with the same agonizing thought since waking.

Te amo.

I love you .

Some of the night before was foggy, but I remembered that with painful clarity. I’d said it in Spanish, and Sylvia wasn’t any wiser to its meaning as far as I could tell. I was spared immediate consequence for that admission, but that didn’t change the fact that I’d said it. That I’d meant it.

“How’s Gwen?” Cliff asked.

Hannah strode for the kitchen and didn’t look back. “Well, she refused to go to the ER. She’s in bed, resting.” And not to be disturbed , her tone implied.

Cliff gave a little scoff, glancing toward the bedroom hall—impressed. “How’d you convince her to do that?”

Hannah met his gaze with tentative levity. “You’d be surprised how convincing I can be.”

I stepped toward the couch, squinting a bit as the morning sunlight shone through the green floor-to-ceiling curtains. My head throbbed slightly from the remnants of the bourbon last night. Cliff slouched onto a velvet armchair while I sank into the deep cushions of the sofa. An old, sleepy German Shepherd was curled up on the seat beside me, its tongue lolling eagerly and happy to accept my absent-minded pets.

Most of the other animals were on the move, snuffling around the floor for crumbs. I hadn’t noticed until then, but there were various baked goods strewn across several surfaces in the living room, making me wonder if Hannah’s garage doubled as a bakery: cookies, muffins, scones, cinnamon rolls.

I stole a glance at Sylvia, whose delicate figure glided across the sunlit room, moving from place to place as she excitedly noted each cat and dog roaming the space. She stole crumbs of pastries here and there. Her smile was radiant as ever, her cheeks flushed with a natural glow as she caught my eye and lifted her eyebrows.

I grinned back, hoping it was enough to quell the lingering worry that surfaced when she looked at me. It was remarkable she could crawl out of bed after the shitshow at the outpost yesterday, but once again, Sylvia proved she was made out of steel, not some damn pixie dust. Somehow, she was still here with me after I’d frightened her—and she still chose to see the light in me anyway. It was simply her nature.

Fuck , I wasn’t good enough for her .

How could anyone see the kindness and wildness in her and not want to burn the world to give her anything she wanted? A heaviness settled in my chest—a slow, building panic. What if I wasn’t strong enough to let her go at Aelthorin?

If you find a gemstone first, maybe you don’t have to . The words were like claws teasing the back of my mind.

There were plenty of reasons not to bank on that—first and foremost, Sylvia’s grasp on transformation spellwork was hypothetical at best. No matter how she tried to spin it, we all knew it would be risky without a guideline. A botched spell could mean injury—or far worse.

And if it works?

The voice at the back of my head sounded smug, and I grit my teeth, glancing toward the kitchen. That coffee would be a godsend. Jesus , my head was pounding.

At my feet, a small Yorkie wriggled between my boots, tail wagging furiously. I reached down to scratch its head, noting the bone-shaped tag dangling from its collar.

“Theodore? That’s your name, huh?” I said to it. “Kind of a weird name for a dog.”

“It is,” Sylvia agreed. She glided down, letting the dog sniff her outstretched hands. She giggled at the wetness of his cold nose. “ Theodore. Aren’t you sweet?”

I tensed, ready to chuck the dog halfway across the room if it tried to bite her, but to my great relief, the Yorkie was as docile as most of the others that had made a home here. He licked Sylvia’s hands and face—much to her audible delight—before nudging my hand for more pets. The dog made no reaction at all as Sylvia landed on his collar and began to stroke the soft fur between his ears.

“I wish I was an animal affinity,” Sylvia sighed, shooting me doleful eyes.

“You’ve mentioned before,” I said, unable to mask my fond chuckle. I stroked under the Yorkie’s chin.

“I know. But then I’d know what you were feeling, wouldn’t I?” She directed her attention back to Theodore, her voice shifting into an affectionate singsong. “I bet you’re such a happy boy. Do you like the pets from the scary man?”

“Hey , ” I objected.

“And he’s so sensitive ,” Sylvia went on, pressing three quick kisses to Theodore’s fur. “I bet he’s just jealous of what you and I have.”

I stole another glance at Sylvia’s face, relieved to find the sentiments were good-natured, not embittered. Not that I’d have blamed her. The ripple of insecurity was foreign, and I stuffed it down best I could.

The Yorkie shortly lost interest in me, trotting over to where Cliff was flipping through a magazine with disinterest. He’d managed to put distance between himself and the three cats in the living room—staving off another sneezing fit. The dog put its paws on his leg, tail wagging furiously.Cliff lifted an eyebrow, lowering the magazine.

“Little attention whore, aren’t you?” he remarked. But when the Yorkie whined, Cliff folded and scooped Theodore into his lap, offering a belly rub with a little sigh of resignation.

Sylvia landed on the sofa’s armrest, cooing an audible “aww” under her breath. “Who knew you were so good with animals?”

“Well, I’ve had a lot of practice with annoying little things lately,” Cliff said, smirking.

Her expression flattened. “I’m not sure whether I should be more offended for myself or poor Theodore.”

“Want me to give you a little scratch behind the ears later ?”

“Consider my question answered.”

The Yorkie snapped to attention as raised voices shot from the kitchen .

“You’re not supposed to be standing!” Hannah snapped. “Get back to bed!”

“I told you—I’ve had worse.” Gwen’s answering voice was weary. “I’m already here, might as well get to the couch.”

Gwen entered, leaning on a crutch for mobility. Her expression was tight like she couldn’t stand to wince in front of us. The Yorkie scrambled off Cliff’s lap and bounded up to meet her.

“Down, Teddy,” she grumbled. Cliff was on his feet in an instant to offer help, which she promptly protested. Short of sweeping his legs with her crutch, there was little she could do but allow him to usher her to the couch.

I had to admit that she was handling the injury fairly well. Against all odds, we were indebted to her. She could have driven off the moment she freed herself from Sylvia’s ice. Hell, she could have turned on us at any point yesterday at the outpost in order to survive the fight she hadn’t asked for. But Gwen had stayed—fighting by our side as though she hadn’t once stolen a truck just to put as many miles between us and her as possible.

As Cliff helped Gwen hobble to the armchair, she and Sylvia locked eyes, both of them visibly stiffening. When neither of them said a word, Sylvia caved first, casually retreating to my shoulder. A confusing mix of guilt and warmth surged through my chest at how readily she found comfort in me—even if a small part of her still saw me as a threat.

Hannah strode into the living room with two steaming cups of coffee. Even as she handed them off to Cliff and me, her eyes were glued to Gwen, who was stiffly trying to make herself comfortable in the chair.

“The more you strain yourself, the longer it’s going to take us to start packing everything up,” Hannah said.

“Pack up?” Cliff echoed.

Gwen wouldn’t meet anyone’s gaze. “You know I can’t afford to stick around after yesterday. Iverson recognized me. He’ll smell us out—he’s a psycho, you know he won’t stop. We’re ditching town as soon as I can walk.”

The air felt pulled from my lungs. I glanced between Hannah and Gwen, realization crushing in on me. “Shit, I… I’m so sorry.”

Gwen’s eyes were cold, but there was something else I couldn't read there. “Doesn’t change anything,” she muttered. “But I suppose it’s been a long time coming. Iverson’s grip on the outpost was bound to bleed out to us eventually.”

I wondered if that was her way of saying I’m glad you’re not dead . Maybe it was as close as I would ever get after what I had done to Luke.

Hannah smoothed a hand over Gwen’s shoulder, her elegant fingers playing with the disheveled strands of her ponytail. “Gwen’s been trying to convince me to get out of Cypress Hollow since I met. Maybe this is the Lord’s way of setting us on a new path.”

Gwen snorted softly, but she shot a grateful look up at her girlfriend—the words a visible balm for the crease between her brows.

“I’m just glad you made it back to me in one piece,” Hannah added softer, her touch drifting to cup Gwen's cheek.

The oven timer dinged, and Hannah turned toward Sylvia, brightening a little. “I stocked up on produce at the farmer’s market yesterday before Gwen came home. Hope you like strawberry glaze pie. I'll be right back.”

“You guys looking to feed the whole town before moving on?” I asked, glancing around at the platters of cookies and sweet rolls laid about the living room.

“She bakes when she’s stressed,” Gwen explained, giving a sheepish chuckle. “I should see if she needs a hand.”

She reached for her crutch to follow Hannah, but Cliff set his coffee aside and rose to his feet to ease her back down.

“She’s right, you shouldn’t be walking,” he grunted. “That gauze is barely holding as it is.”

She shoved him twice as hard, but his grip was unyielding. “Too rough, asshole,” Gwen grumbled, expression withering as she jerked from his touch.

“Funny, you used to beg me for that,” Cliff said under his breath.

“Until you fucked it all up!” Gwen bit out.

Shit , I thought. Here we go .

Cliff snapped his head up, lips parted in shock. “Me? You were the one who left! No note, no text.”

“Yeah, well, you didn’t do much as drop a damn text—even after you knew where I was.”

“Sweetheart, I don’t beg for scraps. You ran away. You let me think you might be dead for a full month, only to call me from a damn payphone. What did you expect me to do?”

“Follow me!” Gwen’s eyes abruptly began to shine with tears. “I wasn’t running away from you—I wanted you to choose me, dammit.” As her voice cracked, she threw me a sour look, but the venom had gone stale over the past day. She fixed her attention back on Cliff. “But you didn’t. Of course you didn't.”

Cliff went silent, realization crackling between them. He seemed frozen on one knee beside her. “Well, I didn’t know that,” he managed after a long stretch.

Gwen’s gaze dropped to the armrest, where their hands sat inches apart. Her hand trembled slightly as she brushed her fingers over the back of his, like she was afraid to fully touch him.

“We used to talk about making plans. Adventures and fucking life between hunts. Or do you not remember?” It was strange to hear Gwen’s usually harsh tone drop away into something quiet. “I got tired of waiting. It was clear to me where your true loyalties lie. You and I would always be second to saving someone else's life. ”

Cliff moistened his lips, glancing around him and catching my eye for a brief moment. I watched his fingers ease between her slender ones.

“If you’d told me that, we could’ve worked it out. All of us,” he said. Another brief glance cut to me.

Gwen balled her fist, moving her hand from his. She hung her head, anger drained as she rubbed her eyes. “Come on, Cliff. We wouldn’t have worked out shit—we were so young.”

“But not stupid,” Cliff said. A smirk lifted the corner of his mouth. “Well, maybe on occasion...”

Gwen’s eyes were still wet, nearly sharing his expression. “Don’t dwell. Let’s be honest, it turned out better this way. I should hate you right now—I should be saying goodbye to Hannah, too, because of the mess you dragged me into. But she refuses to let go.”

“Guess she’s got that on me, huh?”

“Among other things,” Gwen said, though not cruelly.

Cliff hung his head, finally giving a nod of disparaged understanding. The silence leaching into that bright, colorful room made me want to excuse myself to the car lot with Sylvia in tow. But she was the one who spoke up after a long beat, gently cutting into the heaviness.

“Gwen.” Sylvia cleared her throat when Gwen acknowledged her with severity. “Would you like me to heal your leg?”

“No,” Gwen said reflexively, and I understood entirely—Cliff and I had grappled with the same resistance. Accepting any form of magic felt like a betrayal against everything we stood for. “I’ll go to the hospital today. Soon.”

“I promise, it won't hurt.” She took to the air and pointed at Gwen’s wrapped leg. “Is it riskier to trust a non-human or be limping on one leg while that psycho is gathering support back at the outpost? ”

My brows rose—as did Gwen’s. Drawing a deep breath, Gwen looked at the ceiling and worried her lip. Finally, she nodded curtly. “Fine. But if you lay a curse on me, I’m getting the flyswatter.”

“Naturally,” Sylvia said with a tight laugh. “Cliff, can you help her straighten out her leg and remove the bandages?”

Cliff dragged an ottoman over and winced in unison with Gwen as he did as Sylvia ordered, pushing up the pajama shorts and gently tugging away the layers of gauze. As the wound was revealed, it was no wonder Hannah was upset about Gwen not going to the ER. Cliff had done a decent job with the scant resources we’d had, but the skin around the bullet hole was swollen and discolored, ranging from angry red to a deep purple bruise.

As Sylvia hovered over her leg and began the healing incantation, Gwen shut her eyes to block out the view, as if it could be any worse than it already was.

Knowing that a wound like that would take a few minutes to heal thoroughly, I reached into my pocket. “Hey, Gwen—what do you make of this? Rhett was waving it around when he tried to cozy up to us.”

The sheet of paper was a little worse for wear after yesterday’s chaos, but sections were still crisp and clinical.

Gwen squinted her eyes open, looking relieved for the distraction as she turned the weathered sheet over in her hands. “A fucking monster grocery list?” she scoffed. “Can’t say I’ve seen anything like it before.”

“But we have,” Cliff said gravely. “There was this little church way out in the boonies. Basement looked like some sort of freak show lab.”

I could see how Sylvia bristled at the mention of the place as she recited the healing spellwork. Pulling my phone out, I found the picture I’d taken of the charred sheet in the church basement .

“See that?” I held the screen beside the sheet for Gwen to examine. “Same logo at the top.” The corporate, circular E emblem.

“What the hell has the outpost gotten itself into?” Gwen muttered, pushing the paper back to me. “Sounds like I’m getting the hell out of dodge at the right time. I don’t want anything to do with whatever shit that is.”

Although I’d scanned the paper dozens of times, I couldn’t help but let my eyes trail over it again. The sheet was structured like a purchase order, itemized requests and all. There were columns for Description, Quantity, and Condition Upon Receipt . The gruesome specificity set my teeth on edge.

A few had been checked off.

Ahools (juvenile). 12. Alive, wings intact.

Vampire. 1. Sedated, breathing.

Basilisk. 1. Taxidermied, no visible scarring.

Werewolf pelts. 3. Fully flayed.

Apparently, Rhett was still short on manticore quills, kelpie hearts, and a live banshee. However, he had penciled something into one of the empty rows at the bottom: Siren. 1. Alive, hydrated, bronze sedation .

I tried not to imagine what he would have added to the next row if yesterday had a crueler end: Fairy. 1. Deceased, fully intact .

Sylvia finished up the spell, ousting the gentle cerulean glow between her palms. The room seemed darker in its sudden absence.

“How do you feel?” she asked, searching Gwen’s face intently.

It was like nothing had ever happened; Gwen’s amber skin was smooth and seamless, all traces of the wound erased. Gwen pressed a hand over the area, testing if it was real. Her gaze was wide, lips parted as she met Sylvia’s gaze.

“Thank you,” she breathed.

Sylvia smiled—and I loved the light in her that surfaced when she healed someone. Softening Gwen to that point was a triumph in and of itself.

Sylvia turned back to me, her expression darkening on the paper still clutched in my hand.

“Something’s not right out there, Jon. I want to investigate what I sensed by the wreck,” she said, brushing her hands on her leggings. “And with those local legends… It sounds like glamour. Fae glamour.”

I caught her eye, recognizing that look. “You think it could be another village out there?”

“We owe it to ourselves to find out.”

The bayou hardly had the same hearty location of the lakeside willow grove that Elysia called home. Unlikely, perhaps—but certainly not impossible.

I glanced at Gwen. “Any chance we keep the Accord on loan for another day?”

“Those fuckers at the outpost will be looking to put your heads on a platter,” Gwen said, gingerly touching her healing bullet wound as though she expected the mended skin to be an illusion. “And Rhett’s sure to be leading the charge. You saw that back there—they listen to him.”

“Yeah, can we talk about that? Who died and put Crazy Eyes in charge?” Cliff asked.

I pursed my lips, stifling a snort at the nomer. “Money talks, I guess. Who knows how much he makes from fulfilling even one of these orders.”

“To think his fortune might be from the bones of my people,” Sylvia said, shivering a little as though imagining Rhett’s hand around her. With the spell complete, she seated herself on the edge of the sofa’s armrest with her legs dangling over. “If there is a fairy village nearby, we have to warn them that he’s on the hunt for our kind. We have time and general location on our side—the wreck was miles west of the outpost. Even if Rhett did send out scouts to find us,they’d be spread thin.”

I let my eyes settle on her, tracing the way the sunlight illuminated her rust-covered wrap top, perfectly contoured to her body with the faintest shimmer embedded where embroidered vinework of the same shade crawled up the sleeves. Why was her discussion of stealth strategy a little hot ?

That pull surfaced again in my chest. Wanting her to be mine—fighting that burn that I shouldn’t want her.

“Good thing we’re stocked up on iron, then.” Cliff lifted a brow at the sour look Sylvia threw at him for the mere mention of the toxic substance. “Sorry, kiddo. Nothing personal.”

She sighed, wearily waving a hand. “No, I know Elysia didn’t exactly roll out their warmest hospitality when you came to save me.”

“What, the entire fleet of guards trying to burn us alive? I barely noticed.” Cliff angled his head to catch her eye.“What’s the game plan if we find a village out here, then? Assuming they don’t try to kill us on sight, you’ve still got your mark. You said other villages knew its warning.”

I tried not to notice how Gwen had fallen unusually quiet, drinking in the fragmented glimpses of our history with bridled curiosity. She observed as Sylvia touched her traitor mark self-consciously, pulling her fingertips across the dark runes.

“That’s what I was told,” she answered. The stiffness in her voice was a tell—the terrifying frustration of realizing the majority of her worldview had been filtered through people who may not have had her best interests at heart. With the distance between us and Elysia, it was nearly impossible to determine which parts of oral tradition had been true, and which had been fodder to a culture of fear.

“So, we get there,” Cliff went on, brows pulling together slightly. “And you’re gonna say what exactly? ‘Hi, my name’s Sylvia. I was banished by my last village for allying with humans, but I thought I’d pop in for a social visit? ’”

Sylvia met his gaze, her lips quirking. “Well, it’ll sound better when I say it,” she said airily. She was getting good at that—masking how frightened she really was. She turned to Gwen, all anxiety pushed from her expression replaced by a steely set to her jaw. “That church basement must be where the outpost was keeping that captured fairy. A fire affinity. What were they hoping to gain from… studying them?”

Expression unreadable, Gwen stared at the canvas-strewn wall across the room. Sighing, she pulled her leg up on the cushion and brushed her hand over her healed skin.

“Hell if I know,” she muttered. “The cleaners were at each other’s throats about laying claim to wings and bones before Rhett stepped in and insisted they keep the fairy alive.” Her expression somehow became more grim. “Rumor was, he wanted its blood. Not long after the fairy was moved, Rhett was flashing cash and going on about improvements for the outpost.”

I swallowed hard and forced myself to look at Sylvia. Her eyes were fixed on the rug, and she made no move to speak.

“There weren’t any others after that?” I asked Gwen.

She shrugged. “None that I can tell you about—I wouldn’t know. But it’s not a stretch to say there’s a settlement of fairies out there. Hell, I had nightmares about a swarm of them coming down on the outpost after what happened to their friend.”

“ Stars .” Sylvia buried her face in her hands and shuddered. Cliff offered a soft word of comfort, touching her arm delicately. But when she looked up, it was my eyes she found first. She started to push herself off the armrest, started to come to me for comfort again.

But that was all wrong. She shouldn’t have wanted to be anywhere near someone like me. I stood before she could reach me, pacing toward the other side of the room. The people I haggled and drank with would readily slaughter her and her people on sight. And the worst of it was that I couldn’t help but wonder—what if I had been there during the fairy’s initial capture in the swamp? Could I have been just as eager to be the one to take down strange, new prey?

I wanted to say no, but in the frenzy of bloodlust, I couldn’t be sure. My stomach churned at the knowledge that death wasn’t even the end of a fairy’s abuse at the hands of outpost residents. How many of the renovations had been paid for with that fairy’s life?

SMASH!

The shatter of glass sent my hand straight for the gun in my jacket. Cliff and Gwen were on their feet at once, all of us turning to find Hannah in the hallway. Gwen staggered a little—not from pain, but surprise that she could walk so easily.

For a terrible moment, I thought blood was trickling over the shards of glass on the ground in front of her, but it was only strawberries.

Gwen drew in a sharp breath. “Oh, no—honey? Can you hear me?”

Hannah’s eyes fluttered. A soft moan escaped her lips, followed by a series of rapid breaths as though she was hyperventilating. Her fluttering gaze became fervent, searching until it found Cliff. She froze, eyes going wide and desperate as she stared at him dead-on. In the next instant, she broke into a toothy smile.

“You’re Cliff Everett, aren’t you?” Her voice was hoarse, laced with a fragile hope.

Cliff flinched a step back.

“The one from the legends,” she went on. Her stare was unwavering, unblinking. “Are you going to save us?”

“What the fuck is she talking about?” Cliff asked, turning to Gwen, who had her hands over her mouth .

“You’re Cliff Everett, aren’t you?” Hannah spoke faster, frenzied. “The one from the legends. Are you going to save us? You’re Cliff Everett—”

“Enough! Snap out of it!” Cliff shouted, starting toward her.

“No!” Gwen sharply pulled on his arm. “It’s alright—let it pass.”

I found Sylvia hovering behind my shoulder. I searched her gaze, silently questioning if she knew what the hell was going on, but she looked just as baffled. When I faced Hannah again, she wavered like she might keel over. Rushing forward instinctively, I took her arms to steady her.

She straightened at once, gasping at my touch as though I was wrenching her out of a watery tomb. With a raspy breath, she set her wide eyes on me, hands flying up to clutch the side of my face. Her fingernails dug against my skin. Her smile was gone, replaced by a look of unrelenting horror.

“ You ,” she wheezed. “Her love will ruin you.”

Her eyes rolled back, and she slumped. I caught her before she could hit the ground, pulling her away from the broken glass. She was limp for all of three seconds before she blinked in confusion. She jolted when she saw she was in my arms, then scanned her surroundings—each of our faces, and then the shattered dish.

Gwen drew closer, laying a tender hand on her forehead. “It’s alright—”

Hannah whimpered, tears filling her eyes. “You shouldn’t be standing.”

“It’s fine—Sylvia healed me. All better now.”

A hint of wonder lay buried beneath Hannah’s tears as she glanced at Sylvia. Then she gave Gwen a horrified, inquisitive look. “Just now—did I…?”

Pursing her lips, Gwen gave a small nod.

“I—I’m so sorry,” Hannah said, looking between each of us.

Flighty with embarrassment, Hannah pushed away from me and mumbled something about getting a broom. She retreated back into the kitchen, shivering.

“Is she okay?” Sylvia asked.

“She’s fine.” Gwen turned to us and steadied herself. “Load up the car. Go look for your fairies, and try not to die. Alright?”

“Hey.” Cliff grabbed her shoulder before she could flee. “What the hell was that?”

“Just a little panic attack. Nothing a hug and a Xanax can’t fix. Get going.”

“Gwen,” Cliff said, his gaze soft despite the ‘don’t feed me bullshit’ command that lay behind it.

Hannah brushed through the hallway that led to the bedroom, one hand cradling her head—refusing to look at any of us. Gwen hesitated, gaze sweeping over the three of us before settling on Cliff again. Something yielded in her face.

“It’s okay, I promise,” Gwen said. “We’ll talk later. I’ve got this.”

She followed Hannah, disappearing into the bedroom where their voices dropped into hushed decibels.

“It can’t be possession, can it?” I asked once we were outside in the early afternoon light. “I didn’t feel any cold spots. And retired or not, Gwen wouldn’t just stand by while a spirit took the wheel on her girlfriend.”

“No, she would’ve taken care of that ages ago,” Cliff muttered, eyes distant.

After being the subject of her frenzy, I couldn’t blame him for being shaken. What the fuck did that mean? The only legends about me and Cliff that had circulated wide enough in the hunter community was the hunt that earned us the Appalachian Reapers nomer, and even then… It just didn’t add up. Hannah wasn’t a hunter. She wouldn’t have known about any of that.

My boots crunched over the gravel of the auto lot, Sylvia’s wings a steady hum beside me. She rubbed her arms, as though the slight chill in the damp air was suddenly unbearable.

“It didn’t feel malicious,” she said. “Not like the spirits I’ve felt before. Just… intense . Like a hive of bees in my mind, out of nowhere.”

She screwed up her face, pulling at the roots of her fiery hair—like the energy was something she could claw out of her head.

As we approached the loaner Accord, I stole a sidelong look at Sylvia. She was already looking at me, her gaze flickering with the same haunted glaze as we drank each other in. The more I tried to push Hannah’s frenzied words from my mind, the more resonant they became in my memory.

Her love will ruin you.