13. The Red Strings
[ Meeting 106; Father Campbell's Chapel. ]
Over the next week (or thereabouts, it was hard to tell time in this wasteland), strange occurrences continued to happen. Meg's injuries from her encounter with the Legion took much longer than normal to heal, and when they did, they'd left scars all over her where no other injuries had. The few times she'd seen Evan since then, it seemed his body was going through something similar. It was strange how the Entity would heal her in-game wounds like any other survivor, keeping her alive for the next trial, and yet those particular wounds remained a permanent reminder of her disobedience.
The survivors, now remembering all the horrors of the previous trials, grew restless. Angry, even. Knowing the extent of the damage that had been done, and seeing how long it had been going on, they longed now more than ever to just escape this hellish world and return to a semblance of normalcy.
Oddly enough, more than a few of the killers had begun showing the same frustrations. It really did seem that the actions of both Meg and Evan had flipped the Fog upside down, and now things seemed to be rapidly heading toward a "collapse," as Jake had been saying. During one of the most recent trials, the Pig had Meg on the ground, a head trap in her hands - but instead of fixing it to Meg's face, she tossed it aside, grumbled angrily, and stalked off, just leaving the red-head there with a stab wound in her shoulder. Many similar occurrences had been happening; such as the Oni going haywire and destroying a hook in his rage rather than beating a survivor bloody, or the Wraith walking the entirety of a map cloaked and never lifting his weapon or ringing his wailing bell. He merely watched, hidden, as the survivors repaired their generators and powered the gates.
The strangest thing of all - the red strings.
The first time it had happened, Meg had been hiding in some bushes next to Claudette, both of them trying their absolute best to keep their panicked breathing quiet as the Hillbilly revved up his chainsaw nearby. The deformed killer had thrown an exceeding amount of tantrums lately, lashing out not just at survivors, but at random objects, too. Dwight recounted to the rest of them the time he'd stood by and watched in horror as the Hillbilly screamed and razed down a locker in his frustration.
And after that, he'd left him alone.
Meg felt Claudette squeeze her hand anxiously as they continued to hide, hoping against hope that Tapp and Nea were sensible enough to stay away. Suddenly she heard Claudette gasp beside her and her gaze darted over to see the dark-skinned survivor clutching at her chest in a panic; Meg's own eyes widened as she immediately recognized the object sticking out of the space where her heart was.
A red string.
Looking off into the distance, trying to see where the wobbling string led to, she bit down on her lip to keep from making a sound as she realized where the red string connected.
It was attached to the Hillbilly himself.
"I wonder if he sees it," she whispered, earning a look of utter confusion from Claudette. Although the survivors had discussed a lot of things over the campfire during the past week, Meg had never mentioned the fateful red string that connected Evan and herself. In fact, any time any of the others questioned her about the killer, she changed topic or refused to answer; she didn't feel like dealing with the disgusted looks, the protests, or the lectures. She knew how crazy it all was. She didn't need to be told.
Meg frowned slightly. "The red string. It's connecting you to…"
Claudette began hyperventilating, and it took Meg settling comforting hands on her shoulders to calm her down and keep her from succumbing to a full panic attack. "Does that mean I'm going to die?" she whispered, horrified. "What does this mean?"
Meg bit down on her lip. "No, don't worry," she murmured, touching the other girl's cheek in an attempt to soothe her. "It just means… that you're… connected."
"Connected?" Claudette's voice wavered. "Has this ever happened before? Is this another thing the Entity is summoning up to punish us?"
Meg hesitated in answering. Finally: "it's happened once. With me and… uhm, the Trapper."
"Is that why he saved you…?"
"I…" the red-head swallowed the sudden lump in her throat. "I-I think so. Who knows?"
Their hushed conversation was interrupted by ragged breathing and the two women looked up with increasing dread to see the Hillbilly hovering right in front of them, staring at them with those eerie white eyes. He hadn't moved, hadn't thrown a tantrum, hadn't even decided to hit them with his hammer. Claudette let out a bone-chilling scream and got up, turning to dart off, but Meg, for some reason unbeknownst to even herself, grabbed the ravenette's arm and held fast, keeping her there. The red-head gazed up at the killer, her head tilting curiously. "You see it too, don't you?" she questioned; though her curiosity was strong, her stance was indeed rigid, poised and ready to run at any moment. Her grip on Claudette's arm was like iron; and though the dark-skinned woman's eyes went between the two with utter panic and confusion on her face, she didn't try to yank away - she only waited there, whimpering in fear.
Meg was still wary, still had that runner's instinct; ever the brave Little Rabbit. But by this point, she knew better; things were changing, killers were breaking protocol, and this may be yet another thing to add to the list of crazy. The Hillbilly's gaze shifted from Meg, lowering to his own chest. He dropped his hammer to rest his hand over his chest in a surprisingly slow and gentle motion; then his hand moved through the air, following the string between them, reaching out for Claudette - who screamed and braced herself for pain, but was held fast by Meg's grasp on her arm.
Then his index finger touched her, just over her heart, lingering there for a few moments. Claudette was trembling from head to toe, but her eyes finally opened, fixating on his finger before lifting up to his scarred and deformed face. "Wh… why are we connected?" she asked, voice barely choking back tears.
The Hillbilly merely continued to breathe in that ragged, animal way of his; though his deformed mouth worked, as if looking for a way to answer her, nothing came out; but he kept that finger pressed to her heart. That was Meg's answer: he saw it too, and he was just as confused by the presence of the string as they were. When his gaze went back to Claudette, he merely tilted his head, something new in his expression. No anger. No rage. No guilt. Just… curiosity. As if he was seeing her for the first time, truly seeing her.
The hand on her chest moved upward, and Claudette visibly flinched - the small gesture made the Hillbilly's hand pause briefly, and that alone caught Meg's attention. He was watching Claudette closely for her reactions - what made her uncomfortable - and reacting accordingly. It only seemed to reinforce the notion Meg had developed that many of these killers… they truly were once humans, dragged into this mess just like the survivors were.
Slowly the Hillbilly's hand lifted to Claudette's hair and he gently tugged on one of her dreads - the playfulness of the gesture was absolutely shocking. Claudette blinked, suddenly trembling less than before, and she looked at him differently now, too. The dark-skinned woman had always been one of the most open, accepting people Meg had ever met; she couldn't help but think that if this were David or Nea, that they would have run off by now - or in David's case, punched the Hillbilly right in the nose. "What's… y-your name?" Claudette managed to squeak out.
"Mmmmm," the killer attempted, lowering his hand and lumbering just a little closer. Claudette flinched again, but remained her ground; though Meg still had the faint suspicion that it was only her tight grip keeping the ravenette in place.
"Mmm?" Meg prompted. "Mark? Mason?"
He shook his head. "Mmmmm… aaaaaa…" he rasped, very clearly not used to speech. Meg wondered, looking at him, if he'd even learned how to talk - or read or write. Considering his deformities, she doubted he'd ever been educated.
"... M-Max?" Claudette whimpered.
His eyes seemed to light up. He gave her a nod. About that time, they heard the loud sound of the gates being powered up, and it startled the trio out of their reverie. Claudette clutched onto Meg, who'd moved closer to her, fear still evident on her face, though it mingled with curiosity and a sort of awe. "M-Max," Claudette began, voice trembling, "d-do you think y-you could… let us… g-go?"
He stared at her for a long moment. As if trying to burn her face into his mind. Then he stepped aside to let them go.
And even though they both ran away as quickly as they could, Meg saw in the corner of her vision that Claudette was looking back. Curious.
Since then, it had happened several more times - Kate and Quentin woke one evening to find a red string connecting them while Dwight and David had a similar connection, and during one trial Feng had found her fateful red string connecting right to the chest of the Doctor, who was cackling like a maniac and doing nothing but zapping them the whole time. During the 'collapse,' as Jake had called it, other batshit insane things had happened, like two killers showing up in one trial, or missing hooks or generators, or different maps blending together; during those times, Meg had noticed some of the killers developing red strings of fate amongst themselves - such as the Wraith and the Nurse… and the Pig and the Cannibal. They'd all reacted it to it very differently - Meg remembered the Wraith moving over to the Nurse and simply staring at her like they'd known each other their entire lives. Like the love that enveloped them transcended the Fog and even their former lives. The Pig, however, had been extremely irritated while the Cannibal just seemed happy to have a 'new friend.'
Red strings continued popping up everywhere - and, it seemed, the upcoming trial would be no exception. Meg awoke to find herself inside Father Campbell's chapel; down in the circus caravan below, she saw Jake shaking his head and getting to his feet next to Quentin. She waved silently to them and both boys noticed, waving back up to her. Together the two started working on a generator down below, though their attempts were lackluster. Everyone's had been; both killer and survivor alike.
Seeing a closed trap on the stairwell, Meg was suddenly filled with conflicting feelings; excitement at the prospect of seeing Evan again, but dread at the thought of how he might look at her. He'd been avoiding her since he'd saved her from the Legion, and she couldn't figure out why. The red string connecting them was stronger than ever, and she felt like they'd broken through a barrier in the Fog. They'd done that together. All because he…
Well, he had feelings for her, didn't he? Was that why he avoided her? Because he was battling them? Or… was it because she'd misread this entire situation and assumed he had feelings for her, and he didn't know how to let her down?
At one point Meg would've thought that this entire thought process was absolutely insane; thinking about a killer this way and wondering if he felt the same way about her. But after all she'd seen in the last week, she was beginning to think that anything was possible.
And, she reminded herself, underneath that terrible grinning mask… Evan was still just a man.
A man who she firmly believed had done nothing to deserve the torment of endlessly killing in the Fog. Maybe when she saw him… maybe… she would ask who he was. Who he used to be.
Every waking moment, he'd been thinking about that damned boy.
Or, more specifically, what that damned boy had said.
"Yeah. That's how love usually is."
The little scraggly-haired fool didn't know what he was talking about. Make him see how foolish he is, his father growled. He is weak. Show him - show them all - how strong you are. He must pay.
He'd grown quite used to ignoring the whispers of his father lately, although he couldn't say the temptation wasn't still there. Beating something that had been drilled into him for years? Nigh impossible. That was something only an eternity of being trapped in the Fog could start to erase. And it had. Even before he'd given Meg that sketch, the voice of his father had been slowly waning, being replaced with ever-present misery and exhaustion. Evan wanted to rest. He no longer felt strong, like the fierce hunter he'd been upon arriving here; but being around Meg… the Little Rabbit… she had shown him that maybe… maybe there was something to hold onto, after all.
He thought about how she corrected Jake when he'd called him the Trapper. "His name is Evan," she'd snapped, leaving no room for argument.
If she thought his title no longer applied… maybe he could let go of it, too.
Appearing on the grounds of the Chapel with a trap in one hand and his cleaver in the other, Evan lifted the trap to examine it, reminiscing. Once upon a time, these had been his greatest weapon. Not only had he learned to hunt game with the methodically and carefully set traps, but he'd captured many a survivor in them, too. They had made him strong; formidable; a threat.
Now they drained him.
Tossing it aside and watching it hit the dirt with a clatter, he began walking the grounds, wondering if he'd see her amongst the survivors. Not that he would know what to do if he did… he had been avoiding her lately, utterly confused and irritated by Jake's words; words that couldn't seem to leave his brain no matter how hard he tried to push them out.
Evan couldn't - wouldn't - believe it. He'd never loved anyone except… except his mother. And for a long time, he believed he loved his father, too - but realized after decades of contemplation in the Fog that it was misguided. His father had made him strong; but he had also made him weak. Crippled him.
Evan paused in his stride the moment he saw Meg in the upper floors of the Chapel; she worked on a generator, blue-gray eyes focused on her work, a strand of red hair falling into her face. He was just as struck by her beauty now as he had been the first time he saw her; although his physical reaction was entirely different. The first time he'd glimpsed Meg, he remembered wanting to corner her. Like a predator to prey, he'd wanted to grab her, squeeze the life out of her intimately, because he hadn't known any other way to deal with the strange emotions he'd felt. He wanted to hurt her. To smear her beauty so he wouldn't have to face it anymore.
And now, he wanted to bask in it; to let her wash over him like the sweet rays of a morning sun.
Yeah. That's how love usually is.
Evan turned away, clenching his cleaver in a white-knuckled grip. Finding another survivor - the one named Kate - messing around with a totem near a pile of junk, he lazily swung at her; even if she hadn't dodged lithely out of the way, he doubted he would have hit her. "My word - you're gettin' lazy!" She chided, though there was still fear in her posture. He was still a killer after all, and she a survivor.
He rumbled and gave chase as she ran, her trail leading him around the map. One large step caused something to pull in his abdomen and he paused, seeing fresh blood seeping through his dirty overalls. The wounds he'd sustained from the male members of the Legion still hadn't fully healed yet; he assumed this was more of the Entity's punishment, keeping him in pain like this. With a low growl, Evan continued on his way until his chase led him over to the circus. There Kate was working on a generator with two others; the woodland boy, Jake, and another one he remembered all too well. He'd once thought this boy was too close to Meg and had given him a death so brutal that it had been sickening. Even for him.
When that boy saw him, his face went pale and his bloodshot, sleepless blue-green eyes widened in dread. Quentin stumbled back from the generator, and immediately Kate caught him, looping her arms around him protectively. Looking at them, Evan could tell that they were close - closer, even, than Meg and Quentin. That was when he saw it - a red string, connecting their hearts. He'd seen some of the other killers, like Philip and Sally, develop connections of their own, but he hadn't known so many had been popping up.
This was surprising indeed.
Evan tilted his head, examining the string between them as Jake continued to bravely work on the generator. Kate's eyes narrowed angrily on Evan. "Now shoo!" She hissed, still holding Quentin protectively. "You're never gonna hurt him again - you hear me, you ol' bully? You'll have to get through me from now on!"
Quentin shook his head, clutching onto Kate. Though his eyes never left the killer, his words were directed at the beautiful blonde. "I-It's okay, Kate… Your life is worth more than mine."
"What utter horse-shit," she spat, tightening her arms around him. "Now you just quit all that. You're always sacrificin' yourself for others. It's about damn time someone did the same for you."
Evan's rumble disturbed them from their passionate argument. "No… no more," the killer said. "You're… safe."
Quentin, although he had surely heard of and witnessed all the craziness going on the past week, didn't seem convinced; though Kate's expression mollified, she didn't loosen her grip on the curly-haired teen. Meanwhile Jake had finished repairing the generator and was watching Evan closely.
"Meg was in the Chapel, last time I saw her," the woodland boy said. "Gonna avoid her like usual?"
Evan's expression hardened. "Not… avoiding," he growled.
"Yeah. Sure. And I'm Mexican." Jake rolled his eyes, moving over to the other two and ushering them away.
Evan stood there for what seemed like forever, staring at the bright lights of the finished generator and wondering how the hell things had gotten to this point. A soft voice finally broke him from his thoughts and he turned slowly around to see Meg watching him warily. "Hey."
His shoulders tensed and he immediately dropped his cleaver, staring hard at her. Memorizing every detail of her face yet wanting desperately to tear his eyes away. Silently he waited for her to say something - and eventually she did.
But what she asked filled his chest with ice. "Who were you?" Meg asked quietly, taking a curious step toward him. Then another. "I've become convinced that many of you killers were just… normal people, dragged from your lives to be thrown in here. Just like us. And I… I was curious… what did you do before you were taken, Evan? Who… who were you?"
Evan remained silent for a long time, so long in fact that Meg shifted uncomfortably and let out a sigh. "I get it," she muttered. "Still avoiding me. Although I don't know why."
"You won't…" he managed, jaw working for an answer behind his mask. "Like… the answer."
Her brows furrowed. "The answer to what? Why you're avoiding me, or who you were?"
He let out a frustrated grunt. Finally, he said, "Evan… MacMillan. Is my name."
"Evan MacMillan," she pondered aloud. "Must be why your realm is called the MacMillan Estate… from the looks of it, it used to be some sort of… mining operation? Is that right?" She questioned.
Evan grit his teeth. Digging up his past was painful - and bound to change her view of him. He wasn't ready for her look at him with pain and disgust again; he wasn't ready to lose the warmth of her tiny hands or the smiles she gave him.
But if he lied, if he kept the truth hidden from her, he knew the results would be disastrous.
"Largest… in Seattle," he murmured, shoulders sagging with the decision to explain. "My father… he… was strong. Ruled his workers… with an iron fist. Crushed them. Put them… in their place."
Meg made a face. "He sounds like a horrible man."
Evan flinched. His instinct was to tell her she was wrong, that his father was strong and capable and smart, but he bit his tongue. Because although for a long time, Evan refused to see it, couldn't see it, he knew now that… Meg had a point. "Raised me… the same. I made friends… with the workers. Father found out… punished me. He instructed me… to do things. Bad things."
Meg blanched. Though she didn't retreat or step back, her little hands did clench into anxious fists. "And you did them," she whispered.
His voice was tired. Shamed. "Yes."
"Why…?"
"He told me… it made me strong. He told me… I showed my worth… by punishing the weak. Break their will… break their spirit."
Meg was incredulous. Tears brimmed the corners of her eyes. "And you believed him?"
"He… raised me to."
She bit down on her lip to keep it from trembling. Seeing the horror on her face was withering. "What exactly did you do, Evan…"
A growl left him. He went quiet again, the words stuck in his throat and unwilling to come out. Finally, he rumbled, "I… led over a hundred men… into the mine." He tried to control the wavering in his low, rough voice. "Detonated the explosives. Killed them all."
Meg's jaw dropped. She stared at him for a long while, tears streaming down her cheeks; Evan felt a strange surge of anger fill his chest. He knew it was the grip of his father when he had the sudden fleeting desire to beat the look of shock off of her face. Of course a worm would look at him like he'd done something wrong - like he was a murderer. He was showing those maggots their place, he was putting them all out of their rotten misery, doing just as father would have done -
Evan shook himself out of it, shocked at how indignant he'd become. Seeing Meg's reaction now filled him with shame and he had to look away from her; though his father continued to whisper, he forced the thoughts down with a clench of his fists.
Meg's wavering voice shook him from his trance. "You… you are a monster," she whimpered.
He closed his eyes. Felt his skin crawl. "Yes."
"You deserve to be here." Meg's voice was almost a sob. With that, she turned and ran away.
"Yes," Evan murmured, watching her go.
Meg hastily wiped the tears from her eyes, grateful for the wind blowing in her ears and the cold air on her face as she ran as hard as she could. Crossing the map, she met up with Jake - immediately skidding to a halt when she saw who else was there. Immediately the red-head went on the defensive, prepared to bolt and drag Jake with her if needed.
Sitting on top of one of the piles of junk was Susie, swinging her feet innocently and playing with her knife almost sheepishly. Jake's posture was rigid, but he hadn't made a move to run away which was surprising in and of itself. Seeing another killer in the trial was unnerving, but it wasn't the first time it had happened during all this insanity. "Oh," Susie hummed, her knife lowering when she saw Meg. "It's… you."
The red-head snarled, not in the mood to deal with any attitude. Not when she was still reeling from the horrible revelation of what Evan had done - who he was. Why was she in this constant back-and-forth with him? One moment believing him to be a good person, the next thinking he's a monster?
She shook herself out of it. There wasn't any going back from what he'd told her this time. There wasn't any way she could forgive a man who'd killed over a hundred innocent people.
But she'd forgiven the man who'd killed her and her friends… hadn't she?
Meg's angry blue-gray eyes fixated on Susie. "You mind telling me what the hell you're doing here?"
Susie seemed to tense up; but Meg couldn't tell whether it was for a particular reason or just her usual shy self. "I don't know…" she managed. "I-I just - wound up here! I-I… wanted to get away from the others, anyways… but I'm kinda glad I-I found Jake here… h-he really… uhm, inspired me."
Both Meg and Jake seemed stunned by the confession. They exchanged glances before Jake focused back on the masked girl, eyes narrowing. "So you're not here to kill us?" He demanded.
"O-Oh, no," she insisted, tossing the knife away and clutching at her hands nervously. "K-Killing was never really my thing… I-I just wanted to…"
"... fit in," Jake finished pensively. "I know what that's like."
Meg took a step back. This conversation seemed way too personal for her to be involved; like she was intruding on a private moment. But as she did, a collective gasp brought her attention back to them and she found them both staring at themselves - and each other.
And a red string stretched from Jake's heart, right to Susie's.
Jake reacted the way he did when presented with anything confusing or uncertain; cynicism. "So the Entity's decided to fuck with us, huh?" He muttered, looking up at the dark sky and throwing up his hands.
"W-what the hell is this thing supposed to be?! G-get it off!" Susie protester, scrambling off of the junk pile and tripping over her own two feet. She fell - right into Jake. While he remained upright, he stumbled and his arms instinctively went out to brace her. The gesture was intimate enough to surprise them both and the masked girl lifted her head to stare at him. The tension was thick enough to slice with a knife, and Meg at this point was too stunned to give them the privacy she thought was needed.
"You're connected," the red-head breathed, and both of them broke from each other as if burned by the contact, looking over at her. "The red string connects you. Bonds you."
"Like you and the Trapper," Jake muttered.
Meg felt her heart clench painfully at the mention of the monster. This time, she had no impulse to correct him over the name.
Jake's eyes shifted back to Susie, who had wrapped her arms around herself, looking almost like a lost child. Something in his expression softened - and he leaned on the wall behind him, folding his arms over his chest and watching her. "Why do you feel the need to impress them?" He asked.
Susie balked under his stare, fidgeting with her hands. "T-they're my friends," she stuttered.
"I wasn't bullshitting when I said real friends encourage each other," he replied. "Those people aren't your friends. They're using you. Why do you care so much what they think?"
The girl looked scared. Which was weird, considering Jake was the survivor here, not her. "I-I just do!"
Jake's lips quirked slightly. "You shouldn't."
Back at the campfire, all the survivors were abuzz with all the insane things that had been happening lately. The convergence of the maps, the red strings that had formed between different people; the killers' different reactions to the recent changes. "Some'a these killas just don't give a shite no more," David grunted, huddled close to Dwight, who leaned on him. "They want ta get out much as we do. But some'o'em - they like it. Some'o'em are jus' - bad eggs. Like that Clown. Could give 'im a right pass outta here and he'd laugh at yeh."
"The Shape…" Nea shuddered, casting a glance over at Bill, Ash and Tapp, who were tucked away by a tree, conversations quietly amongst themselves. The older men seemed to be in a world of their own most of the time, keeping to themselves except to help the younger survivors through a trial. Nea's eyes returned to the fire and she pulled her knees to her chest. "He's got eyes like… like the devil, or something."
A few in the group looked over at Laurie, who slept peacefully in her tent. "He likes her the most," Quentin commented quietly, wearily laying his head in Kate's lap while the blonde stroked his hair gently. On Kate's other shoulder was Ace, snoring softly and still wearing his sunglasses despite it being dark out.
"She came with him, didn't she?" Nea asked.
"Yeah. She said there were rumors spread in her town that they were siblings," Quentin murmured.
"Well, are they?"
"She didn't say."
"Things are changin'," Kate cut in, still lovingly stroking Quentin's hair as he and Ace rested comfortably in her presence. "Y'all think that, if we keep this up, the Entity will do somethin'?"
"I think the Entity is weakening," Quentin said, lowering his voice slightly. "I think… it's stretched itself thin expanding this world to fit us all in… and now that we are fighting back, in our way, it can't handle it. Hence killers roaming where they shouldn't belong… maps converging… weird stuff happening. Like the red strings," he finished, tired eyes shifting up to look at Kate.
The blonde grinned down at him. "Now here I thought you just liked me," she said playfully.
"I do," Quentin replied softly.
Kate's cheeks warmed with a blush. "You're not so bad yourself," she responded, fingers running through his curly hair. "Smartest boy I ever met."
"I don't know about that," the teen stammered, blushing. "I-I'm just… thinking out loud. I believe Jake was right when he said this was it: the collapse. I don't think the Entity can take much more of this… and when it does all come crashing down, one of two things will happen: we'll be free… or we'll…"
"Die," Nea finished in a whisper.
Meg had heard everything from her tent as she tried to sleep; and yet her mind would not quit whirling around in circles, replaying everything that had happened from start to finish. Everything had changed when he'd given her that drawing - but had it really happened before then? Was this predestined from the beginning?
She remembered what Evan had told her after he'd rescued her from Ormond, the look in his white eyes as he'd said it. That she was important to him. And yet…
The revelation of his murderous past still haunted her. He hadn't been a good person before the Entity had taken him - quite the opposite. He'd been a mass murderer.
But how he'd spoken of his father… Meg was certain she didn't have every piece of the story, but it sounded like… like his father had deeply abused him. Probably hurt Evan just like he'd hurt the miners. And he'd grown up believing that was love, that the abuse was just him being taught a lesson. It was a pathetically sad story, she realized, but could it really justify or explain killing over a hundred people?
And yet, even through all of these whirling thoughts, Meg found herself wanting to see him. For answers, she convinced herself; but even as she thought of his strong jaw and narrowed eyes, the angry white scar running down his regal face, she knew that wasn't wholly true.
And she hated herself for it.
Rolling over and forcing her eyes closed, she pushed back all desire to see Evan MacMillan and instead fell into a restless sleep.