As his footsteps faded, Bella's grip on Toby tightened just a fraction.
'...I should leave.'
The thought wasn't new. It had been festering in her chest since the canyon. Since he saved her.
She looked down at her hands—hands that knew how to hold a dagger, how to slit a throat, how to kill in silence. They didn't belong holding a child. They didn't belong in this warm house, wearing this soft dress.
She was a slave. A weapon discarded by Elena and picked up by a man who was too bright, too overwhelming.
'He has Kaida now,' she thought, her inner ears drooping lower. 'He has Mira. He has Helena. He doesn't need a broken assassin.'
She remembered the way he looked at them. The heat in his eyes. He looked at her with... pity? Kindness? She didn't deserve it. She was the one who had come here to kill him. She was the one who had brought danger to his doorstep.
'I'm just a pet to him. A stray cat he fed because he was bored.'
