“You’re shaking,” he whispers. “We don’t have to do this.” I shake my head. “I want to do this.” He tears the blindfold off and forces my chin upward. “Open your eyes, little bird.” At that name, a gasp slips through my lips, and I pop my eyes open, staring up at him in surprise. Little bird, like what my father used to call me. Like I told Jack in my letter. “I’ve got you,” he whispers.
