Chapter 33

Weston

“You’re alone,” Camilla whispered, her voice low and charged like a promise in the dim light.

I couldn’t meet her eyes. “Everyone hates me,” I muttered, turning my face to the wall, the echo of my own despair pounding in my ears.

“They don’t,” she said softly, stepping closer until I could feel the heat of her body, the scent of cider and night-blooming flowers wrapping around me.

“It feels like it,” I admitted, my chest tightening.

Camilla sat beside me on the edge of the bed. Her thigh pressed against mine, and the electricity of her nearness sent a shock straight to my nerve endings. “They don’t understand what you’re going through,” she murmured, brushing a stray lock of hair behind my ear.

For a moment, I let myself believe her—desperate for someone to see past my scars. “I just want things to make sense,” I whispered, voice raw.

Her fingers found mine, warm and insistent. “They will,” she promised, her lips curving into a