“When did those start?” “Ever…” Her throat works. “Ever since the Edens. He’s always there, waiting. Sometimes he hurts me. Sometimes Dakota. I always fight…but…” I wonder if she realizes it or not, but her hand’s gone to her stomach, rubbing at where she was stabbed. Exhaling, she squares her shoulders, shakes her head. “I can’t escape that night. It’s always in me. And I fucking hate it.”
