There was a sharp knock at the door, and I looked away from my father to watch Micah hesitating near my door. He didn’t look at me, refusing to meet my eyes. Something was different about him. His shoulders were stiff, his posture more rigid than usual, and there was a red mark at the base of his throat, a fading imprint of fingers. “Take her,” my father demanded as he stepped back, running his hand over his mouth. Micah hesitated for half a breath before he crossed the room in two long strides. “Don’t,” I whispered as he reached for me. My voice was raw, trembling. “Please, Micah, don’t.”
