Across from her, Jayson found a seat and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his eyes a dark, endless abyss.

"You deserve the truth," he began, his tone eerily soft, like a lover sharing a secret. "You always did."

Marianne felt her heart thudding painfully in her chest. "What are you talking about?"

He smiled, but it wasn’t warm. It was hollow, devoid of humanity. "Who I really am," he said slowly. "You’ve known pieces of me...the parts I’ve let you see. But that’s not the whole story. It never was."

She sniffed but he sighed, a sound filled with false regret. "I grew up in a house...