Chase doesn't say anything. He doesn't have to. His eyes say it all.
The Shine won't have me.
I try to snort, but it comes out as more of a whimper. I get to my feet. "I don't blame them."
"Kate." His voice is deep, hushed.
"A person is dead because of me." I take a step back.
He follows. "No—"
"Yes! And don't . . . I'm not saying this for sympathy. I've just . . . it doesn't matter if your friends will help me or not. I can't have any more on my conscience."
Suddenly, in a way that's almost a relief, I accept that this will hurt. And I'm resigned to it. That's when the tears start, but I'm too tired to fight them.
I could be killed. But the more I do with the Shades, the more other people will get hurt, too.
I'm backing away because he won't stop inching toward me and the concern in Chase's gaze, the sympathy there, cuts me.
