“Who?” The word was a growl from somewhere inside me I’d never been. Locke sighed. “Easy. It’s over now.” Because he was here. With us. But with scars like that, it was never over. It was Saint flinching when the smoke from the firepits blew into his face. It was the grief in Rubi’s eyes when he traced the white lines on River’s wrists. It was the pain that never left us.
