Page 46 of Molt

She sees it. Of course she fucking does. She always sees me. Even when she doesn’t remember me.

Especially then.

“What?” she asks.

“Nothing.”

“There it is again.”

“What?”

“That look.”

I straighten. “What look?”

“Like I said something I’m supposed to remember.”

“You didn’t.”

“August.”

“Lenora.”

She glares.

I almost smile. Almost.

Then I notice the blood. A thin line runs from the opening in her palm down her wrist.

I move instinctively. “You’re bleeding.”

“So were you.”

“That’s different.”

“How?”

“Because I don’t care about me.” The words leave my mouth before I can catch them.

Her face changes.

Fuck.

I reach for her hand then stop myself. My fingers hover inches from hers.

She looks down at the space between us then up at me. “You’re scared to touch me.”

“No.”

“You’re terrified.”

“I’m cautious.”

“You jumped across an entire room because I peeled my neck.”

“Because you shouldn’t have.”

“You held me.”