“She was an old woman who was dying anyway. And you’re not afraid of killing. I should have expected it. And I shouldn’t care.” Priya’s throat felt thick. It was hard to force the words out. “And I wish I could say that I don’t know why you’re like this—why you always gut the heart out of me, over and over—but I know why. I lived through our childhood too.” She looked away from him.
