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DAYS BEFORE DIVORANDO: 26
The laughter wiped from his face.
“Why?” Alessa clambered out of the tub. “Why would you pretend to be a criminal? An outcast?”
“Why do you care?” He slammed the salve onto the counter and walked out.
Leaving a wet trail behind her, she ran after him. “I’m trying to understand you.”
“There’s your first mistake.”
“If you aren’t marked, you don’t even need a Fortezza pass, so why did you come to work for me?”
He wouldn’t—or couldn’t—look at her. “Because men do stupid things when women cry?”
“Not good enough. You lied to me.”
He whirled on her, eyes flashing. “You foundme, remember? And mark or no mark, Iaman outcast. No home, no family, no friends.”
“I told you—” She stopped, suddenly lightheaded. “I thought you understood what it felt like, but you’ve never killed anyone.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing. Maybe I just didn’t get caught.”
“Which one is it?”
“I didn’t save them. Same thing.” He stared at the floor, hands gripping the hilts of his knives like they were the only thing tethering him to the ground.
She couldn’t stay angry when he looked so lost. “Your parents?”
“To start.”
“For what it’s worth, I’m a much better listener than I am a Finestra.”
“You don’t need my ugly history.”
“What’s one more tragedy?” She gave a delicate shrug, a gamble that paid off when he quirked an almost-smile. “I told you mine,” she said, a teasing lilt to her voice.
He turned to the rain-streaked balcony doors, fists clenched, mouth tight. She was about to leave him in peace when he finally spoke. “They were killed by a mob. People we’d known all our lives turned on them, dragged them outside, and beat them to death.”
She shivered. “Why? What could they possibly—”
“Nothing,” he snapped. “They didn’t doanythingto deserve that.”
“No, of course not,” she said in a hurry. “I didn’t mean—”
“They weren’t perfect, but no one deserves that.”
“Of course not. I just can’t fathom why people would do something so terrible for no reason.”
“Oh, I’m sure they hadreasons. People always have reasons. People can justify anything if they want to enough.”
“I’m so sorry. How old were you?”
“Old enough.” The anger in his voice was for himself, not her, but it made her flinch.
“How old?”
“Twelve. But I was big for my age. Strong. I could’ve fought, given them a chance to get away. And I didn’t.” His voice was so hollow it seemed to pull the air out of the room. “I hid. I heard it all and I did nothing.”
