Sweat poured down my back. My breath came in shallow gasps.
“Wait until I’m dead,” I whispered, “and you’ll find out.”
His eyes turned a violent shade of red.
To him, I must’ve sounded defiant. Insulting.
“You think I’m afraid to watch you die?” he spat.
Then my index finger cracked under his grip.
“Will you talk?”
“Kill me,” I hissed through my tears. “Kill me—and you’ll finally know.”
His whole body trembled with fury. And then, he nodded. “Fine. I’ll grant your wish.”
He pulled out a wrench.
Held it up—aimed straight at my other fingers.
“No—Alaric, wait—AAAH!”
The pain was unbearable, but worse was the searing agony in my chest.
I collapsed onto the floor, trembling, lips turning purple.
The wrench shook slightly in his hand.
“If I destroy you,” he muttered, almost to himself, “then I’ll go to prison with you.”
Blood pooled in my mouth. I coughed, then reached up with what little strength I had, fingers trembling as I tore open the buttons on my shirt.
“You want the truth?” I choked out. “Then I’ll show you.”
The moment he saw the scar carved over my heart, the wrench slipped from his grasp and clattered to the ground.
