The question didn't hang in the heavy, stifling air of the mountain cabin; it crawled across my freezing skin like a swarm of venomous insects. I stared at his bright, ecstatic smile, tracking the way the jagged red tissue of his fresh scar pulled tight and unnatural against his sharp jawline. My mind, which had been fractured and violently spiraling for the past three hours, suddenly snapped into a cold, terrifyingly sharp focus.
I had spent the last three months agonizing over his violent death. I had wept until my tear ducts were completely dry, mourning the beautiful, misunderstood boy who had supposedly died trying to save me from a monster. I had let the grief hollow out my bones. But the man standing in front of me wasn't looking at me like a rescued, traumatized victim. He wasn't
