Cassel — POV
Oh God.
What am I supposed to do?
What am I supposed to do with this girl?
What am I supposed to do with this reckless fool who throws herself into danger as if her life were something expendable—something easily replaced?
What am I supposed to do with these feelings that are killing me from the inside, gnawing at my sanity, corroding my reason, dragging me closer and closer to a place I swore I would never return to?
After what happened—after I saw her blood spill beneath my hands, after I tasted that unmistakable metallic tang flooding my mouth—
I couldn't face her.
I couldn't stay by her side.
Because I'm afraid.
Afraid of her.
Afraid of myself.
Afraid that if I look at her for too long, if I feel her warmth, her pulse, her fragile breathing beneath my palm, something inside me will snap again.
Afraid that I'll lose control once more.
And next time, I might not stop myself in time.
I might truly destroy her.
And I can't bear that.
