watching her boss, whom she’d seen in different states of violence—from torture to arson himself, to breaking bones, breaking hands, hanging heads… She could go on. But this man was different—or perhaps he was the same, just softer, safer. He rubbed lightly at the soot spots on Lyssa’s cheeks until the black had transferred to the handkerchief and he was standing, tucking it back into his pocket. “There you are,” he said with a heartbreaking grin. Or rather, heart-mending. Like with that one small act, he’d taken a needle and thread to the two broken pieces of Evie, slowly pulling her back
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