Chapter 7 · The Dead Don't Forgive

He brings gauze and antiseptic at dawn.

I'm sitting on the edge of his bed, still wearing yesterday's clothes. Blood dried under my nails. I haven't moved since he left me here last night. The mark on my neck is burning. Not pain. Just heat. Like it knows he's close.

Cade doesn't knock. He comes in, shuts the door, sets the kit on the nightstand. His hands are shaking.

"Let me see," he says.

I don't move.

"Sienna."

That name. My real name. He's been using it since last night like he's testing how it fits in his mouth. Like he's allowed.

"Don't call me that."

"It's your name."

"You don't get to use it."

He crouches in front of me. Eye level. His jaw is tight. He didn't sleep either. I can smell the exhaustion on him, bitter coffee and adrenaline sweat.

"Show me your wrists," he says.

I hold them out. The cuffs from Damon's interrogation left raw bands around both. Cade's face goes blank when he sees them. Not angry. Worse. Guilty.

He opens the antiseptic. Pours it on the gauze. Presses it to my left wrist.

I don't flinch.

"You should've told me," he says quietly.