"Locke..." My voice comes out smaller than I want it to, barely a whisper. “I –”
"I know," Locke interrupts gently, his eyes softening with a deep, pained tenderness as he watches the color drain from my cheeks. He squeezes my hands tighter, pulling them up toward his chest. "I know, baby. I know what this sounds like. I know every dark place your head is going right now, and God knows I f*****g hate putting this on you."
I swallow hard, forcing the lump in my throat down, staring at our joined hands. "Is it about Knox? Vane?”
Locke’s jaw tightens slightly, a subtle muscle flexing in his cheek, but he doesn't answer. He can't.
"I can't give you details, Zara," he repeats softly, his voice laced with a bitter, frustrating restraint. "You know the rules. The less you know right now, the
