The Assassin
She gasps and covers her mouth with her hand.
“What?” Nova asks worriedly, looking up at me.
“Sweetheart,” I say, rubbing my free hand up and down her arm, “if you were born that year, you’re twelve,” I tell her.
“I was in that horrible place for two years? What month is it?”
“It’s May,” Kenna says.
She leans into me. “My birthday was last month.”
“We can still have a party for you,” Kenna says, coming to crouch in front of us as Everett pulls the needle from my arm.
Bab Populer