Chapter 236

Dante’s hand rose, shaking, to the line of my jaw.

He turned my face into the first gray light as if it could testify.

His thumb brushed my throat with the care a surgeon uses on a blade.

I felt the heat there—blood waking under skin where his grip had frightened it.

He touched the marks with reverence so raw it made my eyes sting.

“Not. Your. Fault,” I whispered, and hated the way it sounded like