Zaviel -

The sobbing stopped.

The Weeper tried to pull away. Her hand came loose from his chest, leaving him gasping but whole. She stumbled back, glass crunching beneath her bare feet—and she did have feet, he saw now. Real feet. Bruised and bleeding. zaviel

“Like what?”

But the girl—or the thing pretending to be a girl—let out a small, broken sound. Not a sob this time. A whimper. The sound of someone giving up. The sobbing stopped

A crash yanked him from sleep—glass shattering in the kitchen. His phone read 12:03 AM. His eyes, still closed, burned with the instinct to look. To check. To see . She stumbled back, glass crunching beneath her bare

Another sound. Not glass this time. A sob. Low and guttural, like a wounded animal trying to be quiet.

“Don’t,” she whispered, and her voice cracked again—truly cracked, not faked. “Don’t look at me like that.”