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He touched her car.
Stroked it.
Just once.
But he did.
He did it when he thought no one was watching.
He did it when he thought he was completely alone.
Morana blinked at the stinging in her eyes as she saw his big, rough hand move across the charred remains tenderly, the sliver of hope expanding to a fragment now.
She knew.
She had seen.
And she was going to fight him, fight for him, like he’d fought for her. She was going to gamble. She was going to throw herself off the cliff and hope he would catch her. Because she didn’t see how they could move on if she didn’t do it. Lord knew, he wouldn’t.
Gulping in a deep breath, she took a step forward in the darkness, her eyes on him.
For a moment, nothing happened.
It was silent. It was dark. It was vacant.
She stood in plain sight now, enough so he could just turn his neck and see her.
But nothing happened.
Heart pounding, Morana swallowed, her own gun in her hand, and took another step forward.
He just took a deep breath, his back expanding, the fabric of his jacket stretching across those scarred muscles but he didn’t turn.
And suddenly, Morana knew that he knew that she was there.
He knew she was standing behind him, watching him, and he didn’t turn.
God, he wouldn’t make this easy on her. Well, she wasn’t going to make this easy for him either.
She walked another step forward, then another, and then another, watching his back muscles tighten with each one of hers, his body coiling.
Deja-vu hit her, from that very morning, when she’d confronted him about his hatred for her, about his sister, and the fact that she’d been one of those missing girls.
‘I never hated you for that.’
No. He never had. Not for that.
Had it just been that morning? Just a few hours? It felt like a lifetime.
But she had incited a reaction from him.
Taking another deep breath, closing her eyes momentarily and calling upon all the strength inside herself, Morana threw herself off the cliff.
“I know.”
Two words.
Piercing the silence between them like bullets.
