Theo’s face blanched, and something lurched in his stomach. Worse than he had imagined, again – he hadn’t realised that was something to be afraid of, something that could happen. Social ruin was one thing, and the unbreakable vow another, but – “That’s not right,” Theo breathed. He felt fierce with anger at it, the outrage written on his face, but for a minute no other words would come. How... who would have...? But the answers would not lessen the horror, so he wasn’t sure he could bring himself to ask.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered finally, his hand still pressed to Cash’s face, half to keep himself steady too. “I wish it hadn’t happened to you. But that’s on them. Not on you.”

Eli Swan hadn’t deserved that. Someone had murdered him: no one had leave to do something like that. But of course Cash – wasn’t to blame. Cash hadn’t killed anyone. And, for that matter, Cash hadn’t made Eli Swan the way he was, any more than he had made Theo this way, or chosen it himself.

Invert. Theo hadn’t heard anyone use the word before. He wasn’t sure how he felt about it or what it implied, or if that was what he was. But he knew how he felt about Cash – and he was more sure of it than ever, today. He had only known some of the dangers – the vow, his father, the marriage – but he had tried to stay away to keep him safe, hadn’t he? To keep Cash alive because he loved him.

And he had come this close to losing him anyway.

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