I swallow hard. “I found it in the yard at our old house.”

Gritting his teeth, he yanks the bracelet from my wrist. “You fucking little thief. You’re lucky I don’t arrest you.” He starts to raise his hand, probably to smack me, but then stops himself, probably because he knows if he marks my face then everyone will see the rotting that hides beneath his flesh. Lowering his hand, he storms for the door. “Don’t ever touch any of my shit again,” he snaps then walks out of my room, slamming the door behind him.

I don’t move. Barely breathe.

I don’t want to be here.

I want to fade away.

Die.

Why didn’t I die with them?

After what feels like hours, I drag myself off the bed and walk over to the mirror to see the damage. My side feels like it’s on fire as I lift the hem of my blood-stained shirt and peer at the newly marked word branding my flesh. Then I shake my head, my jaw ticking.

He didn’t only carve one word into my flesh, but three.

Disappointment.

Invisible.

Forgotten.

I lower my shirt, go to the bathroom, and clean and bandage the wound. Then I return to my room and sink down onto my bed, sitting in the middle of my drug stash that he just left in here, probably trying to send me some sort of cryptic message—my uncle really likes his mind games. What the message is, I haven’t got a clue. And I really don’t care.

Shoving the drugs out of the way, I lie down and close my eyes, trying not to think of anything other than sleep. Because sleep means forgetting. Of course, being an insomniac complicates that. So, eventually, and even though it’s a bold move, I grab a joint and head over to my window.

I light up and take a drag when I spot someone creeping around in the backyard. As far as I know, my aunt and Dixie May aren’t here, probably because my uncle sent them away so he could torment me in private. Dixie May thought telling her dad about my stash would lead to me getting arrested, so she’s going to be severely disappointed when she realizes she’s wrong.

I’m not sure if I am. If jail sounds any worse than what just happened.

I bounce back and forth between which one sounds worse as I watch the figure as it moves through the yard. At first, I think it’s my uncle, going out there to try to burn the pendant again. But this person is moving like a stealthy ninja, and that’s something my uncle definitely isn’t.

If I cared, I’d tell my uncle, but honestly, part me hopes it’s a car thief about to steal my uncle’s car. But that hope gets squashed as the moonlight casts across the person at just the right angle so that I can make out their face …

My jaw drops. “Hunter?”