“I see it in your eyes,” he says, barely above a whisper. “When I walk into a room. When I touch you. You still look at me like I’m him.”

You shake your head, but the denial catches in your throat. He’s already looking away, jaw clenched, breath shaky.

“You try so hard to pretend I’m the same man I was before. But I remember what I did when that thing was inside me. I remember every scream. Every death. And I see it written all over your face—you remember too.”

Your voice is quiet. “That wasn’t you, Dorian.”

“But it was.” He finally meets your gaze, and the pain there is unbearable. “And if you can’t look at me without seeing a monster, then maybe… maybe I really am one.”