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“His sister isn’t even pregnant,” Nightmare laughed. “Tell her, Byron. She thinks you’re frozen and under compulsion but we both know the truth, don’t we?”
I forced myself to look at Byron for longer than a second, a sharp pain cracking through my heart at the devastation in his sapphire eyes.
“It’s okay,” I whispered. “Whatever she made you do—”
“Made?” Nightmare smiled wider, really enjoying herself. “Oh no, my terror. He chose to do everything. Didn’t you?”
Byron jerked, a sharp flinch that told me he could move, like I could move, like Miz clearly couldn’t. What would Misery have done if Nightmare released her grip on him? Killed her? I believed he would. He wouldn’t stop until she was dead, and maybe he knew that.
“I’m so sorry,” Byron said suddenly, his eyes darting to me. Full of shame. I didn’t want to believe it; I clung to the possibility he was compelled. “She would have ruined my family.” A tear tracked down his cheek. “I didn’t want to do what she told me, but I didn’t have a choice.”
“You did,” Nightmare chided. “You chose yourself, and preserving your reputation, your family’s wealth.”
“I would have been kicked out of Ford, Cat,” Byron said, his voice breaking, pleading. “I’d have had no future in medicine, no future at all. Do you know what my parents would do if they found out I bribed my way in?”
I sucked in a pained breath. Oh god, he really did bribe his way in. My ears began to ring. I remembered how my voice sounded when Nightmare commanded me, remembered speaking to Darya, my voice not quite right. But this was Byron’s voice, the voice I’d known for years. My bottom lip wobbled. He wasn’t compelled at all.
“My dad beat the shit out of me the night before we came here because I told him and Mum I’m gay.” Byron was pleading, willing me to understand. I remembered him holding his middle the first few days we got here, and my chest ached fiercely.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I asked, unable to hide the hurt in my voice. “Honey and I would have had your back, By. You know we would.”
A shadow moved across his eyes. “I didn’t want you to hate my parents, and I knew the second I told you Dad was a fucking homophobe, all you’d talk about was him being a piece of shit.”
“Because he is a piece of shit!” I exploded, all my stress, anger, and betrayal blasting out. “We would have taken care of you, and we'd have figured out the bribery shit, too—you didn’t have to… what have you done?” I asked, realising all they’d done was hint at it.
Byron dropped his gaze, pain tightening his features.
“What did you do, Byron?” I asked, my voice hardening. I held Miz’s pinky tighter.
“Not volunteering the information?” Nightmare asked, visibly gleeful. “Alright, then I will. From the moment Misery called him the night of the party Byron was my willing follower.” I snapped my head around to stare at Miz. He called Byron? Fuck. Fuck. “And from then on, he’s done all manner of little jobs for me, haven’t you, Byron?”
“Fuck you,” Byron said weakly.
“All those text messages you received? Byron. The threatening notes left for you? Byron. The kitten you thought you found outside Lawrence House? A scrap of my magic left there by Byron.”
Every word made my chest tighter. Made it impossible to breathe.
“I killed Darya because of that kitten.”
Byron flinched.
“You did that?”
“I’m sorry,” he said miserably.
I couldn’t look at him. Couldn’t stand the sight of him. I was a murderer because of him.
Nightmare gloated. “The events that led to Dean Fairchild’s murder were placed, meticulously, by Byron. I couldn’t have done it without your help, dear.” He recoiled from her reaching hand, his face twisted into hatred. “That nuisance kept me out of Ford’s grounds for as long as he could, but ultimately he fell. Thanks to your precious Byron.”
Dean Fairchild… protected us? Kept Nightmare away?
“You killed him?” I whispered, staring at my friend.
“In spectacular fashion,” Nightmare confirmed, making me sick. “Oh, and that sweet girl in the year above you, the one you found tragically murdered in her room?” Nightmare’s smile widened. “Byron.”
“I didn’t want to,” Byron choked out, tears falling freely down his cheeks.
Erika. He killed Erika. Byron. My Byron. My best friend. I couldn’t process it.
