Laurent stared at him, lips parting behind the mask. He felt choked with emotion, with vulnerability and uncertainty. Of course he didn't want Gansey to go. But Gansey had gone.

The soft ferocity of that voice made Laurent's heart pound. Did he mean it? No. Yes. If Gansey went, again, then Laurent didn't want to be tortured by the possibility that he'd come back.

"You just left," he said, struggling with the words but understanding that he had to communicate something to keep Gansey from making good on that promise. "Without a word. You were gone. For... for... I don't know how long it has been." He reached for his aching head to rub at it, but his fingers touched the cold black enamel of the mask. The phantom's damned masks, that Laurent had been wearing for years.

He tore at the mask, ripping it from his head with enough force that the ribbon snapped, taking a fine spray of pale golden hairs with it, and threw it hard. It skittered across the floor, face-up, lying mute amidst a fallen array of bones.

And Laurent was left unmasked, beautiful and more vulnerable than ever, lashes lowered and face averted, hands trembling as he realized what he'd just done.