The only sound in the chamber was the soft, rhythmic swish of the silver hairbrush passing through Marissa's long, dark hair.
She was staring into the mirror. But she wasn't looking at her reflection. She was looking into the past. The image of the silver locket dangling from Derek's hand was burned into her mind.
She stopped brushing. The bristles rested against her scalp.
"So," Marissa spoke to herself, her voice a whisper in the empty room. "He was the one I saved back then."
She lowered the brush to her lap.
"He was the boy in the snow," she murmured. "And I was the girl. But he mistook Senna for me."
It all made sense now. Derek's blind trust in Senna. His patience with her. His need to protect her. It wasn't love. It was a debt. He thought Senna was the one who had dragged him from death's door. He thought Senna was the one who had kept him warm and safe.
