Not the kind that means no one’s been here at all.
The locket rests against my skin like a promise.
A warning.
A claim.
And as my heartbeat slowly—barely—starts to steady, one thought sinks itself deep into my chest, cruel and undeniable:
He’s closer than I think and whether I’m sober or shaking or hiding on this floor—Kai knows exactly how to find me.
Scarlett
The world is too bright when I lift my head.
Not warm bright.
Not gentle bright.
The kind of bright that feels like knives—thin, white, merciless—cutting through my eyelids, stabbing the base of my skull.
My mouth tastes like iron and wine and regret.
My limbs feel wrong, heavy, like someone poured sand into my bones while I slept on the kitchen floor. I barely remember dragging myself from the tiles to the sofa. I barely remember the room spinning around me like it was trying to shake me off.
I don’t know how long I slept.
Minutes.
Hours.
Years.
The house is too quiet.
The silence feels loaded, like something is holding its breath behind the walls.
Noah should be here.
It’s late enough that he should be pacing or shouting or slamming doors—should be scolding me or apologising or pretending last night didn’t happen.
Instead—
Nothing.
I push myself upright slowly, palms sweating, head pounding so violently it feels like my skull is full of broken glass clinking with every movement.
“Noah?” My voice comes out small. Brittle. Scraped thin.
No answer.
I force myself to stand, legs trembling, robe hanging off one shoulder. The locket bumps against my collarbone with every step, cold enough to make me shiver.
The living room is immaculate.
No overturned cushions.
No glass on the floor.
