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“You came.” My voice is hoarse, scratchy, and layered with disbelief. He pauses, turquoise eyes raking over my body, cataloguing the burns at my wrists, the black lines in my skin, and the torn fabric of my dress. Caed’s answer, when it comes, is a broken, resigned whisper. “You called.” — Marie Mistry
You came.” My voice is hoarse, scratchy, and layered with disbelief.
He pauses, turquoise eyes raking over my body, cataloguing the burns at my wrists, the black lines in my skin, and the torn fabric of my dress. Caed’s answer, when it comes, is a broken, resigned whisper. “You called.