I returned to Dan’s room as soon as I could.
The door creaked softly behind me, the hallway’s shadows still clinging to my skin. My chest still ached with the imprint of Vincent’s fingers, his possessive grip, his whisper that still echoed in my mind like a curse: “You belong to me.”
Dan looked up the moment I entered. He sat upright now, barely—but upright. His face was pale, jaw bruised, a faint tremble in his fingers as he reached for the blanket draped over his lap. Even with the cuts and hollow cheeks, his eyes were still warm.
But not trusting.
“You okay?” he asked. Voice hoarse.
I gave him a nod. A lie.
He didn’t buy it.
“What did he do to you?” Dan pressed, brow furrowed. “I heard you scream when he dragged you out.”
I shook my head and tried to sit beside him, pulling the
