Lark’s hand tightens on my elbow. “Will…,” he says, eyeing my gauntlet and newly formed dagger. “Will… don’t do this.” “Let me go,” I growl. “William.” Lark glances overhead. “Please.” I feel my eyes burn; the world begins to turn green. “Larkin, I am warning you—” Lark steps closer, whispering, “Sweetheart… honey.” My breath turns shaky, rattling in my chest. He’s never called me those things before. Lark taps his forehead gently against mine. His slides his hand down to wrap around my wrist as his voice turns soft. “You don’t want to hurt me, and I don’t want to hurt you. We have to go.…”
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