“It’s a phoenix,” I answer, knowing he’s talking about the bird with wings of fire tattooed down my left side. “When?” The word is nothing more than an anguished groan. “The day after I watched you get carried out of that ring.” “Why?” Fuck, he sounds so broken as he says it. “Because phoenixes are reborn from their own ashes, and part of me died that night with you. I needed a reminder that I could rise again too,”
