**CALISTA**I thought I was ready to see blood.But I was not ready to see what was left of Atlas Kane.When I peeped through the door as he undressed, I caught sight of the dry blood gluing his dress to his skin.I had imagined a deep gash across his back…maybe another bullet wound or fresh injuries from tonight.What stared back at me instead...was years of suffering carved into flesh. And I heard my heart rip into smaller and smaller pieces as my hands started to shake. Cuts. Like a psychopath's canvas, long, horizontal wounds lined his back in countless numbers but those ones were fresh. New. Adult wounds that did nothing to mask the real horror underneath. “Oh, Atlas…” my voice faltered, and I felt him stiffen when I lifted my hand—and brushed my fingertips along his skin.His flesh was melted in several places, as if someone had been putting out cigarettes on him for longer than even he could remember.I racked my brain for a memory of Atlas with these scars before I…before I
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