Julian fin

oom. Down below, the water in the tub was cold and red. My own hand, pale and

for me, our gilded cage. He called it a retreat, a place for

locking the light. I waited for shock, fo

d smile spread acros

imply watched, his eyes filled with a terrifying satisfa

he l

ep in his chest. It was a sound of pure, unadulterated triumph. Tears streame

wasn't a tragedy to him. It w

of his high school sweetheart, Summer Hayes, six years a

turing me with his hatred, waiting for this exact moment. He was a wol

t beating in my che

as w

late. That heart h