The momentary tremor on Varg's face was swiftly replaced by a pitch-black, poisonous cloud of hatred. It was a transformation so sudden, so total, that for a heartbeat, I forgot how to breathe.
I had said the forbidden words.
I had whispered, "Violet eyes."
I had taken his deepest wound, his untouchable sanctuary, and used it as a jagged blade to rip through his armor. For a fleeting second, I expected the cold sting of regret to wash over me. I expected my conscience to whisper a plea for forgiveness.
But no—there was no room for remorse. The dull, throbbing ache in my unmarked neck, the heavy weight of last night's betrayal, and the sheer exhaustion of being a "freak" in his world left no space for pity.
