Harold's POV
I watched Phoebe laugh, though something hollow lingered in her eyes. "Sometimes I think we're pretty terrible people."
We'd killed, stolen, conned, plotted—done whatever it took to survive.
"Terrible? How's that?" I chuckled, reaching over to mess up her hair. "Everything we've done, we did with our heads held high."
Phoebe had been getting more moody and paranoid lately. If I didn't handle this right, she'd spiral into another emotional breakdown.
Too much guilt for someone so young.
She stayed quiet, but I could tell she was avoiding the comfort I was trying to offer.
She'd probably have to count on her fingers to remember all the people she'd killed over the years.
"Stop torturing yourself. What's done is done." I leaned down and pressed my lips to her closed eyelids. "From now on, you've got me. Whatever you decide to do, I'll be right there with you."
