WHY CHOOSE?
The third came last, slower than his brothers, and when he reached the edge of the stage he was the only one who stopped and simply looked at me — not at my body, not the way the others had, but at my face, like he was checking whether I was about to break.
"Ivy Sorrell," the scarred one said, reading it off a slip of paper someone had handed him, testing the shape of my name in his mouth like he was deciding whether he liked it. "Roman Kade." He nodded to the stone-faced one. "My brother, Silas." Then the third. "Ezra."
I said nothing. My whole body was shaking too hard to speak.
Roman reached out and tipped my chin up with two fingers, the way you'd examine something you'd just paid for —