What he described was appalling. My heart broke for that little boy cowering in a dark cabinet, terrified into silence. His emotional scars were horrific—discolored fissures marring his psyche. How did someone recover from something so life-altering? He’d been innocent. A victim in a war far beyond his grasp. Could I blame him for his hatred? Not entirely, but he was no less responsible for his own actions. People all over the world were unjustly injured and unfairly treated, but that didn’t give them the right to ravage others. Filip had been just as innocent in what had happened as Dante. He’d lost his mother in the same dispute. “Why try to hurt Filip? He was just a child like you were.” He exhaled a sardonic huff. “The system placed me with a cousin outside the life. They adopted me an
