Semua Bab His To Hear, His To Hold: Bab 41 - Bab 50

The weekend passed faster than I expected, which was rude considering how much energy it sucked out of me. Between Victor interrogating me about who I "liked more" out of literally everyone I'd ever met and Katy checking in on me like I was one missed text away from getting murdered in my sleep, I ended up more drained than I was after midterms. Victor didn't leave my side once for the rest of that party. I didn't mind his jealous streak. Honestly, it kept me from having to talk to anyone but Katy, which was a win. But it still rubbed at me. The way he hovered, eyes scanning every guy in a ten-foot radius like he was mentally assigning threat levels—mildly annoying, needs to die, currently breathing near Anne: unacceptable—was a little ridiculous. By Monday morning, I was dead on my feet. The kind of tired where you consider faking your own death just to get out of gym class. But even through the fog, one thing stood out: people were watching us. Victor and I hadn't even made it p

Victor walked me home under his umbrella, the two of us tucked close together while the rain came down around us in cold sheets. I didn't mind it—it was kind of nice, actually. There was something admirable about the way he held the umbrella so I wouldn't mess up my hair, the way he adjusted it every time the wind changed. Halfway through our walk, the rain finally stopped. Everything was left damp and glistening, the pavement dark and reflective like someone had poured varnish over the world. Victor didn't seem to notice the shift in atmosphere. He just kept talking like nothing had changed. He rambled about the pizza guy at the karaoke place who looked like Napoleon Dynamite. Then something about a professor who reeked of vodka and tried to give a midterm while clearly blitzed out of his mind. His voice was low and pleasant, like background noise on a train ride. I wasn't really listening. Not because I didn't want to, but because something else had started gnawing at me. Henry

I knew it was back. I fucking knew it. Anne froze up at the tiniest things—turning her head when no one spoke, asking if I said something when I hadn't. The way she'd stop talking midsentence, like she was tuning into a frequency no one else could hear. Her paranoia was gone, replaced by something sharper, more internal. She was listening again. Really listening. Her telepathy was back. I started keeping a ten-to-fifteen-foot radius from her, depending on the room. Close enough to seem normal. Far enough that she couldn't hear what I was thinking unless I wanted her to. It was only a matter of time anyway. I'd predicted her mind would stitch itself back together eventually, like skin healing over a scar. And I'd watched, like a hawk, for the signs. Then came the confirmation: the night I slept over. That voice she heard in the dark? The one that scared her out of bed? It wasn't Henry's. It was mine. Well—mine by proxy. Ten thousand dollars. That's what it cost to hire the acto

It wasn't hard to act like my usual self at all. Not with Victor. Not when his thoughts were this predictable—unhinged in their own way, sure—but completely normal for him. Normal enough to not worry, not react. Just breathe. Just listen. But I'd already figured out how to break him. And I was pretty sure it would work. It had been two days since Henry has been absent. Victor's thoughts still weren't at full volume, which told me something I already suspected: he was hiding something. Actively. Deliberately. He could project if he wanted to. But he didn't. I shouldn't have told him my mind reading came back. Should've kept it to myself in that stupid nurse's office instead of blurting it out like I needed to prove something. I really shouldn't talk when I'm emotional. Especially not to Victor. Katy said this was a terrible idea. And yeah—maybe she's right. But I was still sure of what I needed to do next. When he picked me up after class, I latched onto his arm first. 'She's

I lifted the gun again and pulled the trigger. Victor flinched with a sharp yelp, jerking back like I'd shot him point-blank with a real bullet. But all that came out was a weak hiss and a thin, pathetic stream of water that splashed against his shirt. He just sat there. Arms still raised in defense, expression unreadable—like he was waiting for something worse. Like the water was only the beginning of whatever hell I had planned for him. "You shot me," he said dumbly, blinking at me. "It's water, drama queen," I rolled my eyes. His mind was spinning. Not in panic, just... confusion. Total, stunned confusion. Like his entire internal GPS short-circuited and he had no idea how to reroute. He hadn't expected any of this—not the interrogation, not the fake gun, not me flipping the script. He wasn't used to being outmaneuvered. He looked down at the wet spot on his shirt, then slowly up at me. "You tricked me, Anne." I raised a brow. "It was either this or listening to you keep ly