Theron's pov

I stared into the amber swirl of the whiskey glass, the firelight making it glimmer like liquid gold, though it tasted like ash on my tongue. My hand trembled as I tipped it back, draining what was left, but the burn did nothing to numb the ache hollowing out my chest.

Three years. Three fucking years wasted on Felicity.

If it had been Verity—my Verity—by my side, I wouldn’t be sitting here rotting away in misery. I could see it clearly in my mind, as if the gods themselves ...