Her breath hitches.
“Oh,” I whisper, “you feel that, don’t you?”
A tear—just one—slides from the corner of her eye down onto the pillow.
I go still.
Completely.
Absolutely.
Ruined.
“Scarlett…”
Her name is a prayer and a curse in one.
She whispers something in her sleep.
A single word.
Not Noah.
My chest caves in.
“Say it again,” I breathe. “I fucking dare you.”
She doesn’t.
But she trembles.
I reach into my jacket pocket, pulling out the folded scrap of paper—the one she sent back to the prison unopened, marked RETURN TO SENDER in that neat handwriting that pretended she wasn’t breaking.
I place it on her nightstand.
Neat.
Precise.
Unavoidable.
Then I take one strand of her hair—just one—from her pillow.
I curl it around my finger.
And gently place it in my pocket like something sacred.
“I’ll be back for you,” I murmur, rising slowly, eyes locked on her sleeping form. “Soon.” My gaze slides to Noah. “And when I come,” I whisper, voice pure venom, “you’re not waking up beside him.”
I slip back toward the door without a sound.
One last look.
One last hit of the thing that kept me alive in a cell built to destroy me.
“Goodnight, little sister.”
I should leave.
