“I love you,” he says. I stare at him for a long moment, my point forgotten. I love you. Those words are ringing in my ears. I’m sure I’ve misheard him. Famine looks just as wide-eyed as I know I must look. “What?” I breathe. “I love you, you foolish little flower.” My heart begins to hammer against my ribcage. “It’s rather an unfortunate realization,” he says, his breath fanning across my cheeks, “but despite every one of my convictions, I do.” He loves me. He loves me. Me.
