Chapter 8

SILAS

I am not a murderer. I am not a murderer.

The words hammered in my head, over and over, beating in time with the swing of the axe. It was barely morning, and already sweat clung to my skin, but that voice—that voice inside—was louder than anything, louder than the sound of the axe biting into wood. Over and over again.

I am not a murderer.

But if I let him die, what did that make me?

I slammed the axe down, feeling the wood split under the force. “They’re the monsters,” I muttered, trying to ground myself, trying to remember. They’re the ones who kill. Not me. Uncle Orin told me, my parents told me. I saw it with my own eyes.

But still… his voice, his face, the way he’d looked at me. What if… what if he wasn’t like them?

My grip tightened on the axe until my knuckles turned white. It wasn’t supposed to feel like this. I wasn’t supposed to feel anything at all. I dropped the axe, chest heaving, and looked up at the sky, as if I’d find some sort of answer there.

“Fuck!” T