A little torture a day keeps the doctor away.
“Good,” I whisper, my voice smaller than it should be. I clear my throat, straighten my spine. “I’ve got more than a little rage reserved just for her.”
Caden doesn’t say a word. He doesn’t have to. The rage in him simmers just under the surface, ready to boil.
“She’s an evil one too,” I mutter, my voice lower now, darker. A growl rumbles out of my chest, deep and involuntary. That bastard is going to die today.
The rest of the walk, I let my mind spiral. I don’t just want her to suffer—I want her to understand. I want her to feel what it means to tear children out of their lives. What it means to destroy families. So I plan. How to keep her alive while making every breath feel like a curse. How to make her wish she had died in that forest.
