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When he returned to himself, the slight Wednesday lay curled in his arms, her shoulder and occiput bleeding. Tyler touched those wounds and, without volition, drew her closer. Astonishing, he thought. Even this proximity—this intimacy—did not summon the old tenderness; the dance they once shared was a clear memory, yet his interior was blank. Wednesday leaned to his right ear, toward the place she had cut, and gently bit at the cartilage wound. He trembled from the pain.
“Tyler,” she said again. “Remember.”
“Remember what?” he asked.
“Wherever you go, whatever exile befalls you, hold on to this pain,” she instructed. “Remember how I hurt you.”
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