I push up on my elbows and stare down at what he drew. It’s a heart. Not the kind that you see kids draw or the type that you would expect in paintings that depict love. This one is of the organ, blood dripping off its edges and vessels running through the muscle. A thick chain wraps around its center and coils beneath it, a padlock on the end. I squint my eyes and look closer, realizing there’s writing on the lock. Tristan’s Property. I scoff, shoving at his shoulders. “Romantic.”
