at me. He does. His teeth are clenched, and his head is tipped back and to the side, like he’s just waiting for me to make the first move. I hold the cross out with both hands. I want him to acknowledge what it is, what it means. Then I lift it up over my head and let it settle gently around my neck. My eyes are locked on Baz’s, and he doesn’t look away, though his nostrils flare. When the cross is around my neck again, his eyelids dip, and he squares his shoulders. “Where have you been?” I ask. His eyes flick back up to mine. “None. Of your. Business.”
