"I didn't m - " I couldn't even say the word. Couldn't think of the face that belonged to the one I knew was dead. Vissle Ponton. Otto Quinsbey. Both dead, but not because I'd murdered them. "It was an accident."
"You're a fugitive," he said, spitting the final word like a curse. "You changed your appearance and pretended to be some crazy chef's apprentice so you could run away from the law."
"I had to," I whispered.
"You had to kill them?"
I snapped my head up to meet his accusing gaze. "No."
He leaned into me, a sneer curling his lips, which had been so relaxed in sleep just hours before. "I don't believe you."
I resisted the urge to back away from his low, fierce tone. Vissle Ponton. Otto Quinsbey. Dead. Something had happened in that forest, but it didn't involve me killing
