His hand is gentle as he wipes antibacterial lotion on the cuts. “You need to be careful. The hellions are going to be everywhere you are from now on.” “What do you care? You’ll be out of my life the second you get your wings back. You’ve made that pretty clear.” He takes a deep breath. He presses a gauze pad on my shoulder. I wince. He gently strokes my arm. “I wish it could be different,” he says, taping up the gauze. “But it’s not. I have my own people. I have responsibilities. I can’t just—” “Stop.” I shake my head. “I get it. You’re right. You have your life. I have mine. I don’t need to
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