Ninety-nine times.
Now, he watched me die without even blinking.
Worse, he used me as something expendable, a prop to please Celeste, to keep her comfortable, to soothe her moods.
A sudden gust of wind cut through my thoughts, sharp and cold, snapping me back to the present. My body swayed slightly, but I steadied myself and climbed out of the trunk. My legs felt heavy, each step an effort, but I forced them forward.
I had barely taken a few steps when his voice rang out behind me, cold and sharp as a blade.
"Did you forget something?"
I stopped.
For a moment, I said nothing. Then, quietly, almost mechanically, I replied, "…Sorry."
Every time I came back, this was what he demanded.
An apology to Celeste.
For making her nauseous.
For dying in front of her.
For existing at all.
The words came out calm, stripped of any emotion. I straightened my back, as much as my battered body allowed, and continued walking without looking back.
Perhaps it was my obedience this time that pleased him. Or perhaps he simply hadn't had enough.
"This car is dirty," Dominic said after a pause. "Clean it. We'll ride back with the steward."