“If I keep this,” I said, “you do not get it back.”
“I know.”
“If I stay, you never use Katherine’s phone against me.”
“I won’t.”
“If you lie to me again about something that changes my life, I will not try to drug you next time.”
His gaze sharpened.
“I will ruin you properly. I’ll plan better; I won’t miss.”
A faint smile touched his mouth. “I would not expect any less, my love.”
I stepped closer
“You are not my keeper,” I said.
“No.”
“You are not my saviour.”
“No.”
“You are not forgiven.”
“I know.”
I looked at him briefly. Then I said the only true thing left.
“But you are mine.”
He crossed the remaining space between us slowly, giving me time to step back. I did not. His hand rose to my face, careful now, almost reverent. I let him touch me.
Outside, rain moved over Blackwater, over Bellamont, over the courtyard where Katherine had died twice, over the roads where Daniel Martin had finally become someone else’s problem for the last time.
Inside, I held the bloody handkerchief between us.
For the first time since I had met Vincent Moreau, I did not feel trapped beneath his knowledge.
I felt armed by it.
He bent his forehead to mine.
“Selena,” he said quietly.
The name did not hurt this time. It sounded like something waiting for me.
I closed my eyes and kept the box pressed to my chest.
Céline Martin had survived by stealing names, futures, clothes, research, love.
Selena Martin had survived worse.
And now, finally, she had proof that she was not the only monster in the room.
36
