The bubble wasn’t gone, not entirely, but I could feel the edges thinning as I crossed the porch to my side of the duplex.
My place felt cold in comparison to Selene’s.
Silent.
No giggles, no coffee smell, no soft sounds of Selene moving around in the kitchen.
I toed off my boots and set my keys on the counter. The single-serve coffee maker gurgled impatiently as I flipped it on, but even the smell wasn’t the same. Selene’s house smelled like vanilla and toast and her goddamn shampoo.
Mine smelled like . . . nothing.
I padded down the hall, stripping off my shirt and tossing it across the bed. The sunlight didn’t hit these walls the same way. It didn’t hit me the same way.
As the shower heated up, I caught my reflection in the fogged mirror. Sparkly barrettes still clipped across my hairline.
“Jesus,” I muttered, pulling them free and setting them in a neat little pile on the counter. My thumb brushed over one of the plastic flowers, and I recalled how proud and sweet Winnie looked when she finished my hair. I could still hear Selene laughing—low and warm and soft enough to break something in me.
Don’t get comfortable. This is where it all goes sideways.
I braced my hands on the sink and let out a breath.
I knew I was lying to myself, but it would have been so much easier if what was between Selene and me was just a fling. But flings didn’t feel like this. They didn’t seep into your mornings. Your evenings. Your goddamn bones.
I showered quickly, yanking on a fresh shirt and jeans. My hand hovered over my phone before I shoved it into my pocket. I didn’t text her.
Not yet.
As I locked the door behind me, I told myself—again—not to overthink it.
Just enjoy it while it lasts.
But deep down I knew.
I was no one’s first choice.
TWENTY-FIVE
SELENE
The carriage housesmelled faintly of old paper and cedar polish, a scent that clung to the edges of history. I sat at my desk, elbows propped on either side of the two faded photographs. Alma’s photos stared back like the images might suddenly give up their secrets if I glared hard enough. My coffee had gone cold beside me, ignored. There was too much noise in my head—Austin’s laughter from this morning, Winnie’s conspiratorial giggle, the sound of a man’s boots scuffing across my kitchen floor like he belonged there.
Alma didn’t look like the ghostly figure the town whispered about on foggy nights. She wasn’t ethereal or otherworldly. She looked solid. Real. A woman caught in the middle of a life she hadn’t chosen, her spine stiff with duty and her eyes—well, whatever they once were, they were gone now. Scratched out so violently I could almost feel the sharp point of a blade digging into the photo’s glossy surface.
I traced my thumb along the crease in the paper, my gaze drifting to the shadowy figure in the corner. He wasn’t meant to be in the frame. You could tell by his posture, his watchfulness, the way his body tilted toward Alma like gravity insisted on it. And god help me, I couldn’t stop seeing Hayes in him. The sameangled jaw. The same stubborn set to his mouth. The faintest echo of my brother’s smirk.
The Keepers would likely call it coincidence. A trick of heritage and shadow, but I wasn’t so sure.
Hayes had always been sensitive about his so-called curse—the bad luck, the near misses, the way he’d never been able to hold on to anything good. What if it wasn’t a joke at all? What if it started here, with Alma and the man in the corner who was never meant to stay?
I dragged my hands down my face and pushed away from the desk. Dwelling on old photos and ghost stories wasn’t helping me. It wasn’t answering the bigger question clawing at my ribs.
How the hell had I let Austin slip so easily into my life?
The memory of this morning came in sharp flashes. Austin sitting barefoot at my kitchen table, letting Winnie anchor pink barrettes in his hair with the same concentration she reserved for building her block towers. His wide, calloused hands brushing my hips as I reached past him for the coffeepot, the weight of his gaze sliding over me like a caress.
He’d been gone for less than an hour, and already the house felt ... hollow.
This wasn’t what I’d planned. This wasn’t safe.
