Damon’s clawing movements begin to weaken, his eyes rolling back slightly, but a sick, twisted smile somehow manages to form on his lips. He can’t speak, but the mockery in his gaze is louder than any shout. He knows. He knows the truth, and he’s holding it over me like a knife. “I’m not telling you shit,” he spits. My grip tightens. “Zayn, let him go,” my father yells. “I’m not letting him go until he tells me exactly what I need to know.” “I—I’ll—Ne—never,” Damon stutters, tears blurring the edges of his eyes. My grip tightens until Damon’s eyes are rolling to the back of his head, his lungs screaming for air. “It was Anne.” The words don't come from Damon. They come from behind me. The heavy grip on my shoulder vanishes. I freeze, my fingers remaining locked around my brother's throat, but the world around me completely stops spinning. The air in the room feels like I’m breathing in sharp needles straight into my system. I slowly turn my head, my eyes shifting away from
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