He steps closer, the heat of him crowding the space between us, breath brushing my ear. “Don’t test me,” he whispers, low enough to make the words crawl down my spine. “You’re alive because I love your work.”
His fingers unclench, releasing my arm. Blood rushes back in a dull throb, and the silence that follows is louder than the hit.
Justin turns, chest rising too fast, his breath sawing through the space like a blade. He paces once toward the stairs, the boards creaking beneath his boots. “We’ll try again later,” he says, voice smoothed back into something calm, careful—like he’s talking to a frightened animal. “You’ll be better once you’ve settled. The first session’s always rough.”
He pauses at the top of the stairs and glances back. The light slices his face in half—one side washed in gold, the other swallowed in black. His eyes glint in the dark. “You’ll see, Willow,” he murmurs, that smile pulling too wide. “We’ll make something eternal together.”
The door slams. The lock clicks—a sharp, final sound that lands in my gut like a punch.
Silence blooms. Thick. Buzzing. It hums in my ears until all I can hear is the rush of my own heartbeat. The brush slips frommy fingers, hits the floor with a wet slap. Red spreads across the concrete, a slow pulse of color dripping down my wrist.
For a second, I just stare. The rope bites at my skin, rough and raw, the knot dark with dried paint and blood. Then I move—slow, steady—testing the tension, searching for weakness. The frayed edge gives just enough to spark hope.
My pulse kicks faster. I keep working, twisting my wrist against the fibers until pain blurs into focus. “I’m getting out,” I whisper, barely breathing the words. “For Penny. For Rose. For the baby.”
The pipes above groan, water dripping steady through the silence like a heartbeat that refuses to die. I time my movements to it—one drip, one pull, one breath closer to freedom.
14
VINCENT
I grabthe handle of the pot and tilt it just enough to let the foam hiss back down. Steam fills the kitchen, curling against the ceiling. Elise sits on the counter, small legs swinging, a wooden spoon in her hand like a microphone.
She’s singing something off-key about dinner time. Half of the song is a nursery rhyme she learned from day care, half whatever she’s making up in real time about noods, which is what she calls noodles. Her curls stick to her cheeks. Every other line ends with “Daddy,” which she belts like it’s a punchline.
“You’re going to be famous one day,” I tell her, pouring the noodles into the sauce pan.
“I already am.” She grins, showing off a missing tooth.
“Right. My mistake.” I stir the pasta, trying not to smile too much. “What kind of star are you, exactly?”
“The shiny kind.”
“That narrows it down.”
She giggles, kicking her heels against the barstool, and I swear for a moment the kitchen feels almost normal—warm light, tomato sauce bubbling, the faint sound of Mrs. Carter setting the table in the next room.
Then my phone starts buzzing on the counter.
Elise looks at it like it’s alive. “It’s making the bee noise again.”
“It’s a call, baby,” I say, wiping my hands on a dish towel. The screen flashesEdgar. The timing makes my stomach tighten. I told him not to call me back until he has an answer to who has been stealing billions of dollars, and for the past three days he has kept this promise. Every other call I am taking are from employees asking why their company credit card is frozen, or trying to finish up some last minute things before the holiday break, but I can’t trust any of them.
“I have to take this,” I murmur, half to myself, half to the room. “Mrs. Carter?”
“In here, sweetheart!” her voice calls from the dining room.
She steps into view a second later, apron still on, her hair pulled back with one of Willow’s old clips. “Everything alright?” Mrs. Carter asks, glancing toward the stove.
“Yeah,” I lie, reaching for the phone. “Just work.”
She waves me off. “Go, go. I’ll keep this one from burning down the kitchen.”
“I’m not burning,” Elise pipes up from the barstool, spoon raised like a sword.
“Not yet,” Mrs. Carter teases, leaning down to kiss the top of her head.
Elise laughs, and for a second the sound is so bright it almost drowns out the hum in my chest. Almost.
