KILLIAN.
“Should I be worried?”
I glanced at him. The warrior stood there with his uniform torn at the shoulder, waiting for an answer I didn’t have.
“Get back to your post,” I ordered him.
He left, silent.
Now it was just me alone in the corridor. I opened my hand and stared at the pendant—a skinny silver crescent moon. The chain looked so fragile, like it might snap if I even breathed wrong. I’d seen it before. Six years ago, it hung around a girl’s neck on a cliff after dark. Her eyes told me everything she couldn’t say.
I stopped her from jumping.
That night, I wiped mud from her cheeks, held her, told myself it was pity whilst trying to pretend I didn’t care.
The next morning, I turned her away. Made it public, handed her money, sent her off to that clinic. The one that got hi
