Chapter 8 · The Dying Truth

"Get your hands off me!"

I shoved Dax’s chest. It was like hitting a brick wall. He didn't budge. Instead, his fingers clamped around my wrist, yanking me flush against him. I could smell ozone and old leather clinging to his coat. His eyes weren't calm—they were hunting.

"You’re shaking, Mara," he rasped. The vibration of his voice hit my skin. "Why? You just watched that thing dissolve. You should be relieved."

"I'm shaking because you're crushing my arm," I snapped. I tried to wrench away, but he didn't budge. He stepped deeper into my space, pinning me against the cold brick of the alley. The damp wall seeped through my jacket, but all I felt was the heat radiating off him.

Dax leaned in. His gaze scanned my face like he was looking for a glitch in the software.

"That projection... it didn't just look like you. It spoke like you. Knew things only you know," he whispered. "Are you sure you destroyed it? Or did you just swap places?"

I let out a jagged laugh. "What, I'm a shapeshifter now? I just gave up the only memory I had of my mother to save your sorry ass.