“I ruined it for you,” I whisper, the words scraping my raw throat. “All your preparation, your planning. I messed it all up.” Xander’s eyes meet mine, and I expect to see frustration, maybe even anger. Instead, there’s something else—a softness out of place in a room splattered with blood. “No,” he says, setting the bloodied scalpel down. His voice drops to a whisper. “You made it better. Perfect, actually.” His eyes dilate, pupils expanding until only a thin ring of color remains. The intensity in his gaze makes my skin prickle—it’s hunger and wonder and something close to worship. I blink.
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