“What. Did. He. Do. To. You?” Elhyor enunciates each word one by one, his breath choppy once again and his eyes the color of molten lava. “What do you want me to tell you?” I ask with disdain. “Do you want me to tell you how I’ve trained up to twelve hours a day every single day of my life since I first shifted? Or do you prefer that I explain to you how many times I have fallen or burned myself? Maybe you’d prefer that I explain how I already know the pain of a bullet when it’s shot from close range and the only thing you’re wearing is a bulletproof outfit? Or maybe you want to know who hurt
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