“Heather and Thomas knew,” Jasper says, silk over steel. Her name is like an iron fire poker—one glowing amber, fresh from the coals. It sears through my gut. If I could, I’d wipe her name from their mouths, their minds. Fuck them for thinking of her. Fucking them for thinking that of her. Heather was a lot of things, but she wouldn’t have sold me out. My lip curls. “She. Wouldn’t. Do. This.”
