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Underneath the clay and sweat is a scowl angrier than any I’ve seen

The next thing I notice is the sculpture While Luthor’s face radiates with emotion, the clay face of the sculpture is blank No wonder Luthor’s hands are caked with e, one,

s the lips The eyes—he’d worked a solid day on the eyes alone, using a tiny pick-like tool to carve in eyelashes—are now nothing ht indentations under the barely-there brow

There is an eerie quality to the sculpture now: The body is still intact, perfectly beautiful andbut a flat shadow

Still, it see eyes

“It’s better now,” Luthor says flatly

“It was lovely before ” My voice comes out weak

Luthor levels his glare at me “It’s better now,” he repeats

My hand reaches behindan escape before my mind can tell me what I need to do

“ What were you doing with Bartie?” Luthor asks

“ What?”

“Last night In the co with Bartie?” He bites off each word as if it tastes foul in his mouth

“ Nothing Singing Nothing ”

Luthor reaches toward me with his clay-covered hands I flinch He notices, and, rather than becoentler as he would have a day before, his hand tenses and his eyes narrow He touchesacross s the brown streaks on my face

“You’re mine,” he whispers “Mine ”