Page 43 of Bitten, Marked, Obsessed

But the truth is, I didn’t want to go to that place. To see her. Until now.

Until the silence between us is louder than it’s ever been, and I can’t keep pretending we’re fine when we haven’t spoken—reallyspoken—since she landed in that hospital bed torn to hell.

So I go.

The hospital smellsthe same as always— like bleach and microwave dinners.

When I get to her room, the door’s cracked open and she’s standing by the closet, shoving clothes into a duffel with mechanical movements. She’s got a bandage still tucked behind her shoulder, and she’s muttering something under her breath I can’t make out.

“You weren’t gonna tell me you were leaving?” I ask, stepping in.

She startles, then scowls. “I told Mom.”

“Cool. So I get nothing?”

“Kendall, not now?—”

“No,” I snap, slamming the door shut behind me. “You don’t get to duck out and ignore me again. Not when you know I know.”

Her jaw tightens. “Knowwhat?”

I step closer. “That it happened to me. The night you were attacked—it happened to me, too.”

Her face pales.

“I need you to tell me what you saw,” I say. “What it felt like. I need tounderstand, and I think you do. I think you’ve known this whole time and didn’t say anything. And in my opinion, that’s fucking selfish.”

She stares at me.

Then turns away, lips pressed tight.

“Adora—”

“You don’t get it,” she snaps, spinning around. Her eyes flash with something between rage and heartbreak. “Youthinkwe’re the same, but we’re not.”

I blink. “I didn’t say we were. Listen, Dad’s been trying to help me, but I needyou–”

“Oh, that’s perfect. You’ve got Dad now. You’ve got someone teaching you, guiding you. Hebityou. You were chosen. I obviously wasn’t.”

My mouth goes dry. “He’s the one that did this to you, didn’t he?”

She flinches. Doesn’t answer.

“He admitted it,” I say, quieter now. “Said it wasn’t supposed to go that way. That he was trying to help like what he did to me. That it… broke something in both of you.”

She laughs—sharp and humorless. “Yeah. Sounds about right.”

I want to tell her the rest.

About how Dad said she wasn’t really his.

About thetruthof who she is—whoweare. But I can’t tell her when I don’t even know the answers for her. So I stop myself because I don’t know what she knows. And this... this isn’t the time.

“You should’ve told me,” I say instead.

Her eyes shine, but she blinks it away. “I didn’t knowhow.”

“Neither did I.”

---