“Yes,” I admitted. “We were almost friends, weren’t we?” “Mhm,” he murmured. “Friends.” “Why did you come back to my cell that night, hiding your identity?” His voice took on a razor’s edge. “Maybe I wanted to see if you were still planning to run.” “If you had wanted me not to, you could have kept me better guarded,” I snipped. “Right. How easy it is to keep someone who is deathly afraid of being confined from escaping.”
