When one of the residents comes in, my knife is at his throat faster than he can speak. “Locke,” I say sweetly. “Are you surprised?” He turns to me, dazzling smile faltering. “My blossom. What is this?” After an astonished moment, I realize that he thinks I am Taryn. Can he really not tell the difference between us? A bitter pit where my heart should be is pleased by the thought.
