He stills. “Is that how he got that scar?” He’s still staring down at his watch, but for the first time since we began talking, his voice is devoid of its usual sarcasm. “He should have known better.” “Better than to kill you, despite everything you did?” “Better than to trust her,” he murmurs, and he sounds a thousand miles away. “I tried to—” He breaks off in the middle of the sentence, shaking his head like he wants to clear it.
:(
