Page 20 of Devoured
“Zahra?”
Varnar was beside me instantly, his hand on my arm. Normal hand. Normal face. Normal office. Everything had returned to how it should be.
I blinked hard. No figure. No bleeding walls. Just Varnar, looking down at me with clinical curiosity, like I was a puzzle he’d just found a new piece to.
“What did you see?”he asked, helping me up.
“Nothing. I just... lost my balance.”
“You were staring at something behind me.”His eyes searched mine. “What was it?”
“Nothing.”I let him guide me back to the chair. “I guess, I’m just tired.”
But he knew I was lying. I could see it in the way he studied me—like I’d just become infinitely more interesting.
“One last question.”His tone shifted, becoming almost intimate. “Do you still see Theo? Your previous reports mentioned visions.”
I shook my head.
“In these visions, did he ever forgive you?”
I shook my head again.
“No.”
“Smart man.”The words were light, almost joking, but they landed like stones. “Forgiveness isn’t really the point, is it? The point is living with what we’ve done. Carrying it. Some people call that justice.”
He stood, signaling our session was over. I made it to the door before he spoke again. “Zahra.”
I turned.
He was there—too close—moving with that terrible grace. His hand settled over mine where it gripped the doorknob.
“You’re going to do wonderfully here,”he said softly. “I can see it in you—that desire to be better. To be... clean again. We’re going to work on that together.”
His eyes dropped to my mouth, cataloging me. Then his other hand moved, fingers brushing the length of my ponytail.
“Such lovely hair,”he murmured. “Theo must have enjoyed it.”
The words sliced through me. Theo had loved my hair. Had wrapped it around his fist when he’d fuck me—or hit me.
I pulled away from Varnar and yanked the door open. But as I stepped into the hallway, his voice followed.
“Have a good day, Zahra,”he called. “And try to get some sleep tonight. Since you couldn’t last night.”
I didn’t turn back. I didn’t need to. I could hear the smile in his voice.
The door closed with a soft click.
I stood in the hallway, shaking as his words echoed in my head.
Try to get some sleep tonight. Since you couldn’t last night
The way he’d said it—like he knew. He knew what I saw. Or imagined.
No. That was impossible.
I was just tired. Stressed. Seeing things that weren’t there. The medication, the new place, this fucked-up session digging up old wounds—it was all messing with my head. Making me paranoid.
