“You really don’t know?”
I didn’t answer. In the dim, flickering light of the cellar, I just watched him. A cold, hollow weight was already settling in my gut, lower than any punch could reach. I had a feeling I was about to pay for a ghost I’d tried to leave behind at the academy.
The rogue leaned back against the timber post, his split lip curling. He looked at me with a sickening kind of pity.
Beside me, Blake had gone deathly still. His usual restless energy was gone, his eyes flicking between me and the prisoner. He could feel the air in the room changing—becoming heavy, like the moments before a storm breaks.
Blood stained the rogue’s teeth as he spoke. “You really thought you could walk away from a girl like Emma and have nothing happen?”
The name hit me like a physical blow.
