​I told him something I shouldn't have.
I gave him something I shouldn't have.
He went away to die—I prayed that he'd survive.
​I shouldn't have done that either.
Now, five years later, he's back. Mangled, but alive. And it's all my fault.
He has my secret. He has my card. And he's determined to finish what we started.
This is not how it was supposed to go.
But when has life ever been obedient to our wills?
