“It seems like you have it all figured out.” Sam was beginning to feel quite unnecessary. “On the contrary, I missed the tears,” Hel said. “Was it something about holding his hand? Do you need to touch things to get these feelings of yours?” Sam tamped down on a flutter of apprehension. Hel was just teasing, she told herself. That was something normal people did—unlike, say, holding hands with a severed arm, lacing fingers like lovers do. “I could smell the salt,” Sam said. Life, she’d found, was easier when you could slip inside the stories others told themselves about you—when you didn’t
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