Because the truth was that Owen wasn’t the only one haunted by Salina’s death—I was too.

More than once, I’d dreamed of the night I’d killed her. The sharp, curved thorns of her water magic ripping into my skin, trying to tear me apart. My desperate struggle to release enough magic to overcome hers. My elemental Ice glittering all around us like a field of cold crystal. The way Salina’s blood had spilled down her neck in a cascade of crimson teardrops.

Killing Salina had been a necessity. She’d told me herself that she’d never quit, not until she’d taken her revenge on everyone she thought had wronged her. And that she’d never stop loving Owen or trying to win him back by any means necessary—including murdering me.

Yes, killing her was something that just had to be done, but it didn’t make the memories any easier to bear.

Because there was a second twisted truth to this situation, one that kept me up late brooding into the dark of the night: the fact that I was more like Salina than I cared to admit. Cold, brutal, ruthless. And I’d done some of the same things she had over the years, like killing people for revenge, or money, or because letting them live just didn’t fit into my plans.

Maybe Owen was right to keep his distance from me. Maybe it would be better for both of us if I went ahead and ended our relationship for good. That way, at least maybe he could move on, even if I couldn’t—

The door erupted open with such force that it almost banged against the marble wall before a hand reached out and stopped it at the last second. My head snapped to the right. Thoughts of Salina still filled my mind, and for a crazy moment, I thought the water elemental was coming after me again, or at least her ghost was.

But it wasn’t Salina who stepped into the bathroom—it was the giant waiter who’d spoken to me earlier. Curly auburn hair, hazel eyes, nice features. The same waiter who’d been hovering nearby while McAllister and I had been insulting each other.

The giant realized that I was watching her. Maybe it was the hard, flat stare I gave her, but she hesitated a moment before stepping into the bathroom and letting the door swing shut behind her.

“Sorry about the door,” she said, a slightly sheepish tone in her twangy voice. “It got away from me.”

I didn’t respond. All giants were strong, but she’d practically ripped the door out of its frame in her haste to get in here. And she’d pulled at least one of the hinges loose, since the door didn’t quite line up with the wall anymore.