Chapter 16 · What Dax Paid

“Is that what you wanted?”

My own voice. But it wasn't *me*. It was colder, stripped of everything but spite, echoing off the vault walls. “To wake up clean? To pretend you didn't beg me to scrub him out of your head?”

I backed away, heels clicking sharp on the stone. The air tasted like wet wool and old copper. I didn't look at the shadow projecting the voice. I looked at Dax.

He was too close. He was always too close. His chest heaved, those damn judge's eyes scanning me like I was a crime scene he couldn't solve. He didn't move to comfort me. He just watched the void where my voice was coming from.

“I didn’t beg for anything,” I snapped. My voice sounded thin. Pathetic.

“Liar,” the echo spat. “You cried. You held his hand and told him loving him was a death sentence. You asked for the void, Mara. You chose this.”

Suddenly, Dax’s hand shot out. He gripped my wrist—his skin searingly hot against my cold pulse. He didn't pull me away; he just anchored me, his thumb pressing hard into my skin. A warning. Or a plea.