[CAMI]
The halls of this place are ghostly quiet, holding back their secrets from me. I pace them anyway, barefoot, trying to walk off whatever’s crawling under my skin.
The image keeps playing in my head. Over and over like a sick loop.
Zeke kneeling beneath me, shirt soaked in blood, his hand pressed to his side. That f*****g grin on his face even as it spread.
I’d wanted to scream. Or maybe throw something. Or maybe—just maybe—climb into his lap and make sure he was real, whole, and alive.
And that thought? That one right there? That’s the part that pisses me off the most, because how dare I worry about a man like him?
A murderer. A monster. A king in a kingdom carved from blood and fear. He doesn’t flinch when someone dies. Doesn’t hesitate when it’s his hand doing the killing.
