reaths. The water dripped from her chin, tracing cold paths down her neck. S

p hair, and pushed open the door. She would leave,

r in the hallway, leaning against the wall.

udged him. Maybe he had been waiting to talk to he

a look of guilt before he composed them into an exp

ly, offering the handkerchief. "There were...

d at him, her eyes searching his. "W

ve better, Clare. You deserve someone who will fight for

he took another step closer, her voice

od slipped out, a relic of a ti

d by a sudden, sharp coldness. He took a half-step back,

lare, you know I've always thought of you as a sister. My mo

st

er heart. She watched the face that had once been the sun

ed and walked back toward the booth, his back

the wall cast long, distorted shadows, and her own

all, a figure emerged from

face was unreadable, his deep-set eyes holding

ve of humiliation washed over her. To be seen like this, at her most pathe

He just looked at her, his silence a more pr

ast him, her head held high. She could feel his eye

ting out into the cool Manhattan night.

y tears she scrubbed away with the bac

ate. Not tonight. She couldn't

ab, the door groaning in pr

e to,

gritty bar in the Lower East Side,

he blur of neon lights, her reflection a ghostly ima

olded square of cloth. A handkerchief. Not the one Egnacio had offered, but one he had given her when

ht, she threw the small white square out into the night. It fluttered for a moment

was