But right now, I don’t give a fuck about the bad guys. All I care about is the male standing next to me. He lied to me. He knows how to use his powers—that shield he erected to stop the bullets proves it. That means he knows what his powers are. He knows who he is. Gods, he must’ve known all along. Betrayal, dark and bitter, taints my fragile trust in him. In us. I turn to face him and ask the question I promised myself I wouldn’t. “Who are you?”
