I felt it. That connection. The one I felt when I saw her leaving the Sinclair Manor. The one I felt when I visited her in the hospital. That secret language only the two of us understood when she called me. The little string of fate that refused to let me take my eyes off her in that club. It hummed between us like a secret. It kills her that she can’t pick up the scissors and cut it. It kills me that I want more of it. I shouldn’t be wanting more of anyone. Especially not of her.
