LAUREN'S POV

I looked down at her, watching the pain etch across her face as she lay on the floor. The way she winced was small, almost pathetic after the force I’d used to flip her. She had asked for it; she’d confessed and smiled about Elena’s death like it was a prize won. The thought of breaking her hand had been a raw kind of justice that pulsed through me — short, hot, and precise. But then I saw the boy.

  His eyes were fixed on me, huge and wet now, and he stared as if I were some kind of monster. He didn’t understand. He was too young...