The cabin had stopped smelling of blood.
Or maybe I had simply grown used to it.
The sun filtered through the cracks in the wood, painting narrow golden stripes across Adrian’s sleeping face. He lay still, his chest rising shallowly, his bandages spotted but no longer soaking through. For hours I had listened to every breath, terrified one might be his last.
Now, at last, he looked at peace.
But I wasn’t.
Peace was a luxury my heart could no longer afford. It was a fragile mask over guilt, terror, and something darker—something I was too afraid to name.
Because even after everything Daniel had done—locking Adrian away, watching me with those cold eyes, turning our home into a prison—I still couldn’t silence the whisper that I was betraying him. That I had chosen the wrong brother.
A
