Chapter Six
Nobody speaks for a long time.
I stare at the photograph on the table. At my own face, caught through a window, raw and broken in a way I never let anyone see. I remember that apartment. I remember that kitchen table. I remember that specific night because it was the first night I allowed myself to cry after leaving Blackmoon and I chose it carefully, a Tuesday, late, when the building was quiet and I was certain I was alone.
I was not alone.
I had never been alone.
I pick up the photograph. I turn it over. Read the six words again even though I already have them memorized. Then I set it face down on the table because I cannot look at both sides of it at the same time and keep functioning.
"How did you get this," I say.
Jasper's hands close around his coffee cup. "One of
