Reed
I didn’t think.
I just moved.
The moment he said it—you’re dead to me—something broke open inside me. Something ugly. Something sharp.
I scrambled to my feet, wild with grief, dizzy with rage and disbelief. My hand shot toward the desk at the center of the room, my fingers curling around the nearest thing they could find—
A vase.
Ceramic. Heavy.
I didn’t even register the pain as I slammed it against the edge of the desk, shattering it into jagged pieces that scattered like shrapnel.
My hands shook as I grabbed the largest shard. The edge sliced my palm open, but I didn’t care. Blood ran down my wrist and dripped to the floor, fat and hot and red.
I held the shard to my throat.
The room swam.
Tears blurred everything. My body was already wrecked—bandaged ribs, bruises, the
