27
WHITTON
Eve was shaking.
“Hey,” I whispered, shielding her from the prying eyes and ears of the crowd. “Let’s get you some fresh air.”
“I’m fine,” she lied.
“Eve, come on. It’s me.”
She looked up at me with her otherworldly green eyes. She thought that she could hide her pain from me. But I’d spent the last couple of months learning every single expression on her face. I’d memorized her joy and fear and pain. Mapped out the way her lips twitched when I did something she hadn’t expected. The wrinkle of her nose at my taste in music. And the haunting look that came into her eye when discussing her sister. I could see it all right now.
“I’m fine,” she repeated.
“Well, I’m not.”
Her eyes widened. “You’re not?”
I shook my head. “I can’t stay in here another second, knowing he hurt
