Page 149 of The Silversmith

“The man with the scar on his face… He was nice…”

I shuddered and shoved away that impossibility.

“Have you known the whole time?” I demanded. “About… Smyth.” To say his first name, something I’d shared with the man I thought he was, felt like I was betraying Ollie.

Damond’s brow furrowed down at the cornflower-blue bedding. “I’m his cousin, Ary.”

“He’s Molochai’s son.”

“Cousin on his mother’s side,” Damond emphasized with a lift of his brow. “But he is family, and he has an explanation.”

“An explanation,” I repeated, horrified. “He murdered Oliver and Phillip. An innocent five-year-old boy, Damond!” He’d killed Elias Winterton’s parents and little sister. He’d killed and killed and killed my people. And I was beginning to feel even more alone than I had upon waking. If Damond knew, my friends might know too. “Who else of my friends knows he’s the Butcher?”

“He told Gemma everything before you left Tovick. The others—Caz, Finn, Ezra—they don’t know.”

Gemma knew. Not me, but Gemma. And she’d let me go with him.

“He won’t hurt you.”

I shuddered at the memory. How very wrong she’d been.

“You could have told me the truth,” I bit out, eyes locked on my fingers and the tight grip they kept on the cornflower-blue blankets.

“Not my truth to tell.” Damond picked up a glass of water from the side table and moved to take a sip. I watched him, appalled at his calm. He opened his mouth to say more but stopped when my attention shifted toward the door.

There he stood. My betrayer, my heartbreak. I could tell he hadn’t slept in days by the dark circles under his eyes. He wore all black, and his hair fell loose and messy at his shoulders. He towered over the rest of the room, but there was something exhausted and defeated in the way he stood. Power, confidence, hope were absent from him.

“That wasn’t five minutes,” Damond muttered with a roll of his chocolate-brown eyes. Regardless, he rose. “I’ll be outside.” Stopping briefly in the doorway, he shot me an apologetic parting glance before leaving the room.

Gavin appeared visibly broken, but the way he looked at me with warmth and love and sorrow still gripped my rejuvenated heart and squeezed. That longing stare hurt more than the jagged wound Molochai had left behind. Trust, love, forgiveness—these were things I vowed to never give him back. But the moment his eyes met mine, my vow began unraveling.

I hated him for it with a heartbroken vigor that wrecked me.

I hate him, I said to myself. I have to hate him.

So I chose to let more unbridled rage rise to the surface. Because it was easiest. Because it was the only feeling loud enough to smother the confusion wreaking havoc in my core.

“Get out,” I choked.

But he didn’t move.

I shivered beneath his piercing, knowing stare. I remembered the things he knew. The things I should have questioned. Honey and green tea, my middle name, my mother loving blue jays, my birthday…

“Because I know everything about you.”

“Get… the hell… out!” I screamed, but it was a mistake. Sharp pain splintered up and down my torso with the speed and ferocity of a lightning strike. I gasped for air and tried to maintain clear vision through watery eyes.

“Please.” He rushed immediately to my side. “Please don’t do that. Your powers kept you alive, but barely, and you have a very long road to healing. For your own sake, you need to try and stay calm.”

“Stay calm?” I wheezed, gritting my teeth through the pain. “Stay fucking calm?”

The skin on his face, neck, and hands flushed and he offered his hands in supplication. “I know I have no right.”

“Leave. Me. Alone. Get away from me!” I pleaded, shattering into sobs. “I never want to see you again! Go!” My plea floundered into a pathetic squeak.

“No.” His face contorted in pain at the sight of my tears, but he didn’t move. “Not until you give me a chance to explain. Ask me anything, and I will tell you the truth.”

“It’s a little too late for that,” I croaked.