Chapter 29: HauntingRAVEL IS ROCKING, arms wrapped tight around himself. He’s scored lines over his biceps, a criss-crossing tangle of tracks weeping red over black ink. He babbles, begging forgiveness, his voice pitchy and uneven, uncharacteristically high and boyish.
I hurt. The memory of Maryam Ajera’s suffering clings to me, and behind it lurks Ravel’s unfocused glare and the pressure of his foot bearing down on my sternum. When I take a breath, it rasps. I cough.
His head jerks up at the sound.
“Victoire! Oh, flame, you shouldn’t have made me—I really didn’t want to hurt you like that. You understand, I know you do. You know I’m so sorry, don’t you?”
I concentrate on breathing and avoid eye contact.
He runs a fingernail along my cheekbone where it meets my mask. “It was another v
