“What?” My stomach drops into a black, bottomless pit. “What are you talking about?”
“Last night, the cards told me that you’re dying,” Willow states plainly, her voice completely devoid of pity, horror, or shame; instead, it’s a cold, brutal statement of fact. “The cancer is eating you from the inside out. You can go for treatment, you can pretend Locke’s going to save you somehow, but we all know how this story ends. You’re going to fade away.”
“Shut your f*****g mouth,” Locke snarls, stepping toward the threshold, his hand raising the gun again. “Shut it or I’ll shut it for you.”
Willow doesn't even look at the weapon. She keeps her eyes locked on mine, her smile widening just a fraction.
“And when you’re gone...” Willow says. “Dad will still need a daughter, Mayhem will still need
