They slipped. Clink. Louder than it should’ve been, sharp and invasive.
“Shit.”
She crouched to grab them, her ears tracking the echo as it stretched too far down the corridor.
Like the building had stopped breathing.
She looked again. Nothing.
The key slid into the lock.
It stuck.
For a second. Long enough to feel like hesitation.
Then: click.
She exhaled, then froze.
At her feet…
A single rose.
Blood-red and drenched, it gleamed like a warning whispered in her sleep, soft but impossible to forget.
Its petals shimmered beneath the flickering light like stained glass.
She hadn’t seen it when she walked up. Maybe the lighting hid it. Maybe it hadn’t been there.
But it was there now.
Too perfect. Too placed.
Her pulse thundered.
This wasn’t a gift.
It was a lie.
In the kitchen’ssoft glow, she laid the rose beside the tin of tea.
Side by side, they looked almost… graceful.
But not to her.
To her, they painted a different picture entirely.
Menace. Cloaked in elegance. Beauty as threat.
Her gut knotted. She drew a shallow breath. It didn’t reach her chest.
Her fingers drifted to the scar on her palm. Rough skin. Familiar anchor. It steadied her but barely.
From Penny’s room, laughter rose. Muffled. Warm.
It startled her.
Because it was alive.
