Page 99 of Molt

“It is.” Her mouth trembles. “And no deciding that killing each other is romantic.”

My smile disappears. “Agreed.”

She holds out her six-fingered hand. My finger attached to her body. The sight should disgust me. Instead, it makes my chest ache.

“Together?”

I stare at her hand. Eight cycles of us destroying ourselves because neither could tolerate losing the other. Maybe the answer isn’t distance. Maybe it isn’t sacrifice. Maybe for the first time, we simply stop lying.

I take her hand. “Together.”

The second our skin touches, another memory hits.

Not violent.

Not ours.

A room I’ve never seen.

A man standing over Lenora.

Not me.

Older. Gray hair. A black coat.

He presses his palm over her mouth while she screams.

Behind him, I’m restrained.

Bleeding and furious.

The stranger looks directly at me and smiles. “You’ll thank me eventually.”

I fight against the restraints. “Let her go.”

“She isn’t yours.”

“LET HER GO.”

“She never was.”

He turns toward Lenora and touches her face almost tenderly.

Then looks back at me. “You keep thinking love is what binds you.” His smile widens. “It isn’t.”

The memory trembles.

I smell smoke. Hear Lenora screaming.

“What did you do to us?”

The man’s face finally comes into focus. And I know him.

I know him.

Not his name. Something worse. Recognition buried so deep it feels inherited.

He leans close to me. “You asked me to make sure she always came back.”