The chair I'd wedged under the handle last night, the one that was supposed to keep Hansel out and keep me safe, lay in two perfect pieces on the floor near the entrance.
The wood had been cut so cleanly that it looked like someone had used a saw to divide it exactly in half.
"How did that happen?" I asked, staring at the broken chair with confusion and a little bit of fear.
Hansel didn't answer.
He just kept watching me with his dark, unreadable eyes that somehow seemed different now after my dream. Now that I'd seen another version of him looking at me with such love and devotion.
Instead of explaining about the chair, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a handkerchief and held it out to me.
I eyed him warily, pressing myself a little harder against the headboard. "I don't need it."
"You need to clean your tears before they dry on your face," he said quietly, his voice still carrying an unexpected gentleness.
