HildaI can still feel Malcolm’s eyes on me, like greasy fingerprints smeared across my skin. No matter how many times I rub my arms, no matter how deep I breathe, I can’t shake the feeling of his presence, his voice, the twisted, hollow mockery of a man who plays at being something human.Arlo is pacing. I can feel the storm raging inside him. It crackles through the bond, dark and furious, an echo of my own unease.“I should have killed him.” His voice is low, strained. “Right there. I should’ve ripped his throat out for looking at you that way. Speaking to you like you’re... a possession.”I know he means it. I don’t doubt for a second that if I asked, if I simply whispered that Malcolm frightened me, that he made my stomach turn to ice and my heart thunder with dread, Arlo would go back. He’d hunt Malcolm down and finish what should have been done long ago.But I don’t want to talk about Malcolm. I don’t want his shadow stretching into this moment, poisoning it. I cross the room a
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