Caspian Storm

The blood on my knuckles was already drying, crusting over my skin like rusted iron. It should've stung. It didn’t. Not as much as the way Olivia had looked at me, wide-eyed, not with love, but fear.

She was already in our room when I came in. Not pacing, not crying, just sitting there on the edge of the bed, motionless, like she hadn’t moved since she left the courtyard. Her back was rigid, shoulders tight. She didn’t look at me.

“Olivia…” My ...