I nodded, accepting his explanation about why he’d been here with Jillian. “And that kiss you gave me in the vault? Have you thought any more about that? Because that definitely wasn’t just a friendly kiss.”

He hesitated, and pain seeped into his rugged features once more. “That doesn’t feel right either. Or maybe it feels too right. I don’t know anymore, Gin. I just don’t know.”

“It’s okay,” I said, my heart breaking once again. “I understand.”

And I did understand. I had plenty of things in my life that haunted me—memories of the people I’d killed, the torture I’d endured, the horrible things I’d done just to survive. It was hard to be happy when I always had so much weighing me down, hard to think that I deserved any kind of peace, light, or love in my life. Now Owen was struggling with the same feelings, the same emotions, when it came to Salina. He didn’t feel like he had a right to move on yet.

Just like I couldn’t move on from Jillian’s death.

Sure, I’d killed Dixon, Opal, and Clementine, the masterminds behind her murder, but it wasn’t going to bring her back. I’d avenged Jillian the only way I knew how, and it still wasn’t enough. It would never be enough, and it was one more thing that I was just going to have to live with.

Owen stayed right beside me until the coroner zipped up the black body bag, hiding Jillian’s ruined face from sight, and started pushing the cart out of the rotunda.

“I should go,” he finally said. “See how Phillip and Eva are doing. And try to find out if Jillian has any family that I need to contact.”

I nodded, not sure what to say.

Owen reached out and touched my hand. Once again, that treacherous hope flared to life in my chest, even as he let go.

“Are you okay?” he asked. “I should have come over and asked you before, but I was . . . thinking about things.”

I smiled, but it wasn’t a pleasant expression. “You know me, Owen. I always find a way to survive.”

“Yes,” he said, his voice catching on that one word. “You do.”

He stared at me, and I looked back at him. All the care, concern, worry, and pain of the night had left its mark, etching deep, harsh lines into his face, but I thought he was more handsome than ever. On impulse, I reached up and cupped his cheek with my hand. Owen turned his head, caught my hand in his, and pressed a kiss to my palm, right in the center of my spider rune scar, despite the blood, sweat, and grime that still covered us both.