Not fear.
Not guilt.
Desire.
To say yes. To make it real. To burn the world down with someone who’ll fan the flames.
“What about Evelyn?” I ask, because I need a reason to breathe.
“What about her?”
“Aren’t you… together?”
“Nope. Never,” Blake says, flat.
“Am I just a distraction?”
He shakes his head. “We’re the same. I see all of you, and I accept you anyway.”
He kisses my forehead, like that’s supposed to mean something. “Sleep in tomorrow. You deserve rest.”
I smile, watching him step out of the shower like he didn’t just crack the last of my defenses. He towels off and then the bathroom door shuts.
And the house goes quiet in the way quiet things do right before they lunge.
I step out, dry myself off, then pick up my phone and open my inbox.
Another message.
No subject.
You can’t hide forever, Shae.
This time, there’s an attachment.
A video.
My finger hovers over the play button.
Then I tap.
The footage is shaky, dark—streetlight glare and breathy movement—but I know that street.
Two blocks from Hearth & Hands.
The camera pans to a trash bin.
Zooms in.
Inside: an old photo.
Of me.
From prison.
Back when I didn’t know if the world would ever believe me again. Back when I didn’t know I’d be resurrected.
I close my phone slowly.
