Page 8 of Riot

Me.

That terrified me more than anything else ever has.

Because men who see you? Really see you?

They’re dangerous.

They peel away the masks you need to survive. They make you remember you’re human—and remembering hurts more than forgetting ever did.

And a man like that?

He’s not here to save anyone.

Men like him don’t carry salvation.

They carry storms.

They tear down the world you know—and they don’t apologize for the wreckage they leave behind.

Still...

My body betrayed me the second he looked at me.

My blood warmed under my skin, fast and stupid.

My breath stopped when our fingers brushed over the rim of his glass.

Some part of me, buried deep and long starved—the part Boaz hadn’t fully managed to kill—stirred awake.

Hungry.

Hopeful.

Alive.

It terrified me. More than Boaz. More than the guns. More than the cages.

Because I know what hope does in this house.

Hope builds you up just high enough so that the fall shatters every piece you have left.

I can’t let it grow.

I can’t let it root itself inside me.

I can’t afford hope.

Not here.

Hope is the most dangerous thing you can have in this house.

Because if you believe—even for a second—that someone might come for you,

That someone might see you as more than a pet,

That someone might tear these walls down?

It’ll kill you faster than Boaz ever could.

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