“You know he lied about that, right?” I ask her. “That he never came looking for me. He was with the Recruiters the whole time.”

Her face clouds and she shrugs. “He did what he had to.” I wonder if she believes her own words. Or if this is what you do when you love someone: accept their bad decisions along with their good ones.

“He called you beautiful and strong and sweet,” she adds softly.

I keep my voice even and calm as my heart ricochets through my body. “He clearly lied.”

She rolls her head along the wall until she’s facing me. Her expression is somber and serious. “Do you hate me?”

Immediately I open my mouth to tell her no but I swallow the word down. Do I hate her?

Yes. I hate her for living a comfortable life. For falling that day on the path and letting me leave her behind. For growing up with a mother. For not having been tangled in barbed wire and becoming hideously scarred.

For showing me what I could have been if I hadn’t turned cold and dark and hollow.

But of course none of that’s her fault. She couldn’t control the fact that she tripped that day on the path. She’s not the one who forced me to walk away, who forced me to choose Elias over her.

“I don’t hate you for loving Elias,” I tell her truthfully. After all, we’re twins—it shouldn’t be a surprise that we’ve both loved the same man.

If I ever truly loved him to begin with.

She shifts until she’s kneeling in front of me, and I still can’t read her expression. She keeps herself so well guarded. I wonder if I’m the same way. I feel as though I’m a storm inside and the waves of it can be seen in my eyes.

“I want to understand who you are now, Annah,” she says. “I’ve forgotten everything about who we used to be, but we’re still sisters. We’re twins. That means something to me. I want to mean something to you as well. I want to be friends.” She lowers her eyes as if she’s afraid of how I’ll respond.

I stand up so fast that specks of light swim in my vision. I stalk across the room, needing distance. It’s hard for me to catch my breath, my chest tight. I ache. So badly I ache.

My fingers tremble as I press them to my lips.

I hear her stand, hear her footsteps. “I’m sorry,” she says softly. “I shouldn’t have said anything, I shouldn’t have—”