AMANDA
Theodus trusts me now.
At least, that’s what he whispered this morning when I woke up in his arms again. His fingers traced slow, lazy circles on my bare skin, his touch possessive, anchoring. His lips brushed against my temple, voice low, sure.
"You’re such a good girl, Amanda. You belong to me, don’t you?"
I nodded. Because I always do. Because I love him.
Don’t I?
Something inside me stirs. It happens in quiet moments like these. When the world is still, when nothing demands my attention, when I am not moving or speaking or obeying.
It’s small. A whisper. A shadow.
A wrongness curled inside my ribs. I don’t know where it comes from. I don’t know why it’s there and before I can think too hard about it, before I can reach for it, it disappears. I exhale, pressing closer to
