I walked to the garage. Pulled down the old ladder. Opened the locked trunk near the water heater. Pulled out the gas can. The weight of it was heavier than I remembered. Or maybe I was just tired. I moved slowly. Deliberately. Back through the bedroom.
I doused the sheets first. The pillows. The curtains. The rug that cost five grand and still made my skin itch. The walk-in closet where she left nothing but wire hangers.
Then the photo.
Of us.
The one she left on the mantle like a curse.
The frame cracked when it hit the floor. I poured gasoline over it anyway. I stood in the middle of the room. My shoes soaked in fuel. The air thick with promise.
I reached into my pocket. Pulled out the silver lighter Wolfe gave me for my thirty-fifth. I hadn’t used it in years. But it sparked on the first flick. I dropped it into the rug. The fire caught fast. Like it had been waiting.
I walked out the front door without looking back. The porch lit behind me. Then the staircase. Then the room where she never slept.
I walked to the edge of the driveway. Lit a cigarette.
The neighbors didn’t come out. Let them call. Let the fire department arrive. Let the city watch. Let Selene see it on the evening news.
When the first window exploded, I said it.
Soft.
Final.
“I made this for you.”
A pause.
“Now you can have it.”
Then I turned. And let it burn.
25
CLOE
I woke the next day.
The leash lay where he left it. Coiled neatly on the dresser. No note. No command. No lock around my throat. Freedom.
I sat up slowly.
Sheets cold against my bare skin. The apartment around me too still, too heavy. The air smelled like water and smoke and something older—something waiting.
The bedroom stretched wide and empty around me. The faint hum of the HVAC the only sound. Morning light broke against the edges of the blackout curtains, turning the room into a gray, muted box. Dust floated in the beams like it didn’t want to land.
I touched my fingertips to the sheets beside me.
Still warm.
He hadn’t left long ago. But he hadn’t stayed either.
The bed still smelled like him. Leather. Rain. Something deeper—like ash. Like endings.
Wolfe was gone. The leash stayed. It wasn’t folded with ritual. It wasn’t displayed like a threat. It was just… left. Quiet. Unmoving. As if it had a choice, and so did I.
I let the blanket fall. Stood slowly. Felt the stiffness in my thighs, in my ribs, in the bruises he hadn’t kissed last night. He hadn’t marked me. Not in the usual way.
