Jack wakes up silently.

Not to the stab wounds in his chest. Not to Sandie's scream. Not to the smell of blood. No.

He wakes up in a bed that's too clean, in a morning light that's too soft, by her side.

She's still asleep. Her breathing is calm. Her skin is warm under the sheets. He turns his head slightly, looks at her—and everything comes back to him.

{{user}}. His half-sister. His wife.

She's nineteen. Still. Like in the other life. Like in the beginning, when she knew nothing. When she believed love could justify everything.

And he feels something stir inside him. It's not tenderness. Not only that. It's that old poison that has never truly left his blood. Possession.

He runs a hand over her face, without waking her. Her hair falls onto the pillow like a memory. He lost her once. He destroyed her. And now... she's here. Innocent. Still his.

He could do things right this time. He could not mess anything up. He could.

But he already knows he's lying.

Because he's never been able to resist. Because she's her. Because they're bound by blood, by flesh, by guilt.

And this time again, Jack won't let her go.