Kylo. The first man who’d made me feel like maybe, just maybe, I wasn’t so alone. That I deserved someone who saw me, understood me, and adored all the parts of me that others had shunned. But he wasn’t a man at all. I shut my eyes. “Open those pretty, storm-cloud-colored eyes, Evie,” he said, and his voice was his own. No distortions. No masks. “Open.” When I refused, he shoved me back underwater.
