37. They were wrong.
Final.
Katarina.
A loud crash makes me open my eyes.
It’s still not dawn, but it will be soon. The window is open, offering me a wide view of the gentle sway of the waves and the sun barely peeking out in the distance. It’s past four in the morning, and Killian is no longer in bed.
I frown, touching his side only to find it cold, which means I’ve been alone for quite some time.
Another loud crash echoes.
I grab his shirt and slip it over my body, then lean out the window to look. My eyebrows lift in surprise at what I see: Killian is chopping wood, the axe gripped tightly in both hands, striking with furious motion. He does it with rage, with anger, as if he were pouring all his misery into that poor wood.
He must feel my gaze, because he lifts his face toward
