Present

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Thirteen hours and thirty minutes until execution.

Disgust drips from Cian's expression, my accusation hanging between us like a noose. "Murderer," he whispers, more to himself than me.

I tuck my lips in a non-answer and clasp my hands around the bars. I'm both unable and unwilling to offer him anything unless it brings his memory back.

"Why?"

"I was hoping you'd tell me."

Cian's stare sweeps the floor. He looks up, silver eyes rimmed in red. "Who?"

My shoulders fall and I lean my forehead onto the damp iron. "Someone I loved."

For now, Cian doesn't ask any more questions.

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