Carve the Mark

“You want to see people as extremes. Bad or good, trustworthy

You don’t hate me at all,” I said in almost a whisper, afraid to hear the answer.
But his answer came steadily, like it was obvious to him: “No.”

“You really don’t hate me for this,” I said, lifting up my left arm.
“No, I don’t.”

“You,” she whispered, “are the only person he could possibly hold over me now.”
She touched his chin to steady it as she kissed him. Her mouth was warm, and wet with tears. Her teeth scored his bottom lip as she pulled away.
Akos didn’t breathe. He wasn’t sure he could remember how.
“Don’t worry,” she said softly. “I won’t do that again.”

If she had died, he was sure he would have felt it now, like something stabbing him right through the sternum

Because they love her,” Ryz said. “Just as we do.”
“But they don’t know her,” I said.
“True,” he acknowledged. “But they believe they do, and sometimes that’s enough.”