Chapter 6 · Don't Use My Light

Rowan's already awake when I get back to the room.

She's sitting on the floor by the window, knees pulled up, head tilted like she's listening to something I can't hear. The bandage I wrapped around her arm last night is gone. The wound underneath is closed. Not healed, exactly. More like the edges decided to stop bleeding and called it a day.

I drop the coffee and breakfast sandwich on the table. She doesn't move.

"You eat yet?"

"No."

"You need to."

"I don't need to."

I sit down across from her anyway, unwrap the sandwich, and push half toward her. She looks at it like I just handed her a live grenade.

"Rowan."

"I heard what you said to him."

My stomach drops. I don't ask who. I know.

"You told him you'd handle me," she says. Her voice is flat. Empty. "You said I wouldn't be a problem."

"That's not—"

"It is." She finally looks at me. Her eyes are too bright, too still. "You're managing me. Like they did."

I want to argue. I want to tell her it's different, that I'm trying to keep her safe, that I didn't mean it like that.