Grace’s POV

Three days. Helena had been dead for three days, and I still hadn't been able to cry properly. Just pathetic little hiccups that got lodged in my throat, making me sound like I was choking rather than grieving.

Maybe I was choking. On guilt. On shame. Because of the memory of Hunter’s hands on me just hours before my sister died.

I stood in front of the bathroom mirror, splashing cold water on my face for the third time that morning. I looked like shit. Pale. Hollow-eyed.

I ...