She leaned into him, listening to his heartbeat, his breathing. She felt his warmth. “You never did say,” she whispered, “which one you prefer.” “It’s obvious. I prefer the real you.” “Which one is that, though?” “She’s the one I’m talking to right now. You don’t have to hide, Shallan. You don’t have to push it down. Maybe the vase is cracked, but that only means it can show what’s inside. And I like what’s inside.” So warm. Comfortable. And strikingly unfamiliar. What was this peace? This place without fear?
