My phone rested facedown on the side table.
Roy had texted me every night since giving me his name. One question each. Sometimes small, sometimes sharp enough that I carried it into the next morning.
What food did I miss most from childhood?
What tattoo would I give myself if no one else ever saw it?
What was the first lie Havoc taught me to tell?
That last one had taken almost an hour to answer.
Me:
That everything was fine.
Roy had not replied with pity.
Him:
You don’t have to tell me that one.
I had read those words until they blurred.
Beside me, Havoc shifted closer. “You’re quiet.”
“I’m watching.”
“You hate these shows.”
“I don’t hate them.”
“You used to.”
I forced a smile. “People change.”
His fingers stopped against my neck.
Then my phone vibrated.
Havoc’s eyes m
