I bring one hand to my chest, to the scars I can only feel as faint ripples in my skin. “I made these. I— It’s a long story.”
Cole’s tone has softened, as if he’s been taking pointers from his brother. “We have time. If you’re ready to tell us.”
I brush away a last fleeting tear and draw my posture straighter. “There was more to the night I was attacked, when the other Asher died. But it isn’t about the person who attacked me.”
“Someone else was there?” Salvatore demands.
Byron scowls at him. “Give her a chance to talk.”
I smile weakly, summoning the right words. “I told youbefore that the other versions of you didn’t know about my glim or that it killed Asher. You would have known if no one had intervened—I was so confused and horrified, and my shirt was all torn and bloodstained even though the wounds were gone… But while I was freaking out and trying to bring Asher back, a man came over and said he’d help me. He said he was my uncle.”
Byron frowns. “I thought your dad only had a sister.”
“He does. Uncle Nik said he was my mom’s brother. That he’d found out about me and been watching me out of concern, and seen what happened, and that he could get me through it. Make sure the other matches marked on my palm wouldn’t consider me a murderer, that the police wouldn’t accuse me of wrongdoing. That no one would even have to know how awful my power was. I didn’t know what else to do.”
“Of course you wanted to believe someone could help you,” Asher says.
“And he did.” I force a tight smile. “He gave me a jacket to cover my wrecked clothes and coached me on what to say. He stayed with me as a supposed witness who just happened to stumble on the scene, after he called the police and after the three of you found me… And everyone believed him. I hardly had to talk. A teenage girl who’s just seen her match murdered in front of her—nobody can blame her for being pretty much incoherent.”
I drop my hand and look around at the men listening to the truth now. “I didn’t like lying about it. I felt so guilty every day afterward. But admitting what really happened and that I covered it up felt so much worse than if you—the other versions of you—had found out to begin with… And Uncle Nik stayed in touch.”
Salvatore bares his teeth. “Big surprise. He was a prick too, wasn’t he?”
“Maybe. I don’t know. Maybe he was just doing his best in what seemed like a horrible situation to him too.”
I take another breath. “He said my glim could help the whole world. That there were so many more evil people out there, even worse than the person who attacked me—monsters who were hurting all kinds of innocents—and I had the power to stop them. I could take them down without anyone having a clue who was responsible.”
As I pause, understanding dawns across the faces around me.
Cole’s expression has gone rigid. “He turned you into anassassin?”
I wince at the word. “Basically. He gave me lessons for several months in stealth and misdirection and that sort of thing… and then he started sending me on missions. He’d give me a target and I’d get into place, and then I’d… well, I’d essentially kill myself and aim my glim at the person he wanted dead.”
Heavy silence settles over the room. I stare at my knees, fresh tears starting to well up.
Then Salvatore grasps my hand with a squeeze I can’t take as anything other than reassuring. “That fucking asshole. That’s what left the scars? You actually…”
He looks so sick at the thought that I don’t wait for him to try to finish the sentence. “Typically, it was poison. One of the usual ones is the same kind that ended up in my soup—I probably wouldn’t have survived if I hadn’t recognized the flavor. But occasionally we needed a different tactic.” I touch the thin, straight scars over my heart. “I’d stab myself.”
Salvatore’s grip on my fingers tightens.
Byron rests his hand on my shoulder, tentatively and then with a stroke of his thumb when I don’t pull away. “And the others? Those symbols…”
A choked laugh bursts out of me. “I hated it. My glim andthe missions I was carrying out with it, knowing I was killing people even if they were awful… What I wanted most was for my power to be gone, or at least to have it so under control I’d never have to worry about hurting anyone accidentally again. I tried everything I could think of, including carving symbols of warding and banishing from different cultures right into me. Obviously, none of it made a difference.”
Asher’s throat works. “You… you literally tried to cut your glim out of your body?”
My head droops. “Something like that. I can’t stand the thought that if I’m hurt at the wrong moment, I could hurt one of you, or someone else I care about, and I can’t shut it down…”
“It’s not your fault,” Byron says fiercely.
He catches my chin and turns my head so I meet his gaze. Vehemence blazes in his eyes. “You didn’t decide the power fate gave you. You tried to make the most of a horrible situation, while the people around you couldn’t see you were in trouble or took advantage of you. You were onlyseventeen. I can’t imagine what I’d do in the same circumstances.”
“Fucking right.” Salvatore slides his arm around me as if to anchor me in place. “And you’re out of that mess now. You’re here with us. You’re away from that scalder of an uncle and his shitty manipulations. That’s what matters.”
Even Cole inclines his head. His stance is taut, but I don’t hear any recrimination in the words he offers. “We told you we’re in this together. I think we all meant that. I know I did, no matter how much I’ve fucked up before. And we’ll keep being here until you completely believe you can count on us.”
A flutter passes through my chest, chasing away the worst of the guilt weighing on me.
