Every day, he knew a little more about her. Every day, she saw a little more of him. Every day, her scars solidified a little more on her skin. But she didn’t talk to him. Her mother said she had started to whisper little sentences. Vin told him she’d started to whisper little questions. Even fucking Tristan had said she’d started to whisper little words to him. But not with Dante. That fucking bugged him.
