Those words hardly felt real to Simma when Sarah said them. Since simma replied...
"You're joking, right?" His face carried the look of a man trapped between disbelief and irritation, and that expression was deeply discomforting for Sarah.
"I'm not joking, Si," she persisted.
"I said I'm coming with you." She slid onto the bed beside him, as if planting a flag of stubborn loyalty.
"Besides," she added, a small smile flickering at the corner of her lips,
"you need someone who'll make sure you don't collect any more scars."
Simma gave no sign of gratitude. He didn't even bother to look thankful.
"No, you're not coming with me," he said, flat and blunt, almost arrogant.
Sarah raised an eyebrow. Her face stiffened, her mood hardening like clay left in the sun. But before she could speak, Simma cut her off.
"It's dangerous, Sarah. I can't risk putting anyone else in danger on my quest for revenge."
"Then don't do this, Simma. Let it go."
