Voice steady.
Hard.
Cold.
“You want me awake?”
My pulse throbs.
“You want me angry?”
My breath tightens.
“You want me thinking about you?”
I tilt my chin.
“Congratulations, Kai.”
A razor-sharp whisper leaves my lips:
“You fucking succeeded.”
The anger settles deep.
Rooted.
Growing.
He came into my house.
But that doesn’t make me prey.
It makes this a war.
The sun isn’t even up when I decide I’m done being scared.
I slide out of bed, grab the nearest hoodie from the chair, and leave Noah snoring softly behind me—peaceful, innocent, blind.
The house is dim, all soft shadows and curated silence.
It feels like it’s holding its breath.
So am I.
But not with fear this time.
With rage.
I storm down the staircase barefoot, each step a sharp slap against polished oak. The anger buzzing in my blood is electric, pulsing, tearing open everything I’ve tried to keep sealed shut.
I stride into the kitchen, flick the light on—and freeze.
There’s something on the counter.
Something small.
Folded.
