For a full day and night, Connor sat in my room, completely still, staring at my diary. He didn't eat or drink. It seemed he was finally beginning to truly see me for the first time. When my words spoke of joy, he laughed. When they whispered of sorrow, his eyes darkened, rimmed with red. And by the time he reached the final page, he finally realized just how much I had loved him—how much of my happiness had revolved around him and how much of my suffering had been caused by him.Connor curled up on the floor, holding the diary close, pressing desperate kisses against its cover as if it were my face. "Clara, I'm sorry," he choked out. "I regret it so much. Please… Please come back to me… Come back to me, will you?"I sat beside him, emotionless, watching his agony unfold.What use was regret? Could regret bring me back to life? No. I wouldn't be moved by a murderer's tears.…The next day, Connor gathered the merchants who had traveled with us the night Belinda vanished an
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