Charred edges curl around the familiar image. My fingers tremble. I don’t recognize the faces, but I recognize the shirt the girl in the center wears; it had been my favorite. I wear a faded yellow t-shirt with a hand-painted sunflower blooming across the chest. It felt soft like butter against my skin back then. The only thing I owned that made me feel beautiful in a place that smelled like bleach and sadness.
Back when everyone called me Sunflower because my motherdidn’t want my father being able to find me, even if she couldn’t care for me herself at the time.
I scan the boys surrounding the girl. Recognition hits me like a blow to the stomach; slowly I pick them out from the things I used to tell them apart back then. Reid stands the tallest; even as a child, his posture already carried the weight of a leader. Dameon possesses shoulders far too wide for a ten-year-old. Theo has the long, honey-blonde hair I spent hours brushing in the quiet corners of the yard, the strands always catching the sunlight. And Micah, small but brilliant Micah, peers through old black-frame glasses, the bridge and arms held together by thick, grimy strips of white medical tape.
Burnt holes replace all our eyes; it’s very clear it was done on purpose.
Panic claws at my throat. This photo shouldn’t exist. The fire consumed everything; the files, toys, and memories. I watched the roof collapse into the ash fifteen years ago.
I flip the photo over. My heart racing against my ribs as I read the jagged handwriting:What makes them good enough for you, Sunflower?
Ice water floods my veins. If the paper hung from the frame on the outside, then the person who left it should still be in here. They stood exactly where I am now. My gaze darts toward the deep shadows of the hallway and then all the corners. The person who left this message might still be here.
The scream rips from my throat before I can stop it. I stumble back; the Polaroid fluttering from my fingers and landing face-up on the marble. Before the echo of my scream even dies, a thunderous crash erupts from the far side of the living room.
I spin toward the noise, my hands coming up to shield my face. The heavy metal door leading to the fire escape, a door I remember checking to see if it was locked after I moved in, shudders on its hinges. The crew cut and shoulders, along withthe uniform, suggest it might be Sawyer Morgan, the head of security.
He moves with a speed that defies his massive, Beta frame. His boots thud against the stone as he clears the distance between the exit and the foyer in three strides. He looks like a storm made of charcoal fabric and muscle.
I sink to my knees, my lungs refusing to take in air. I focus instead on the name tag pinned to his chest:Sawyer Morgan.
He drops to a knee in front of me, his large hands hovering near my shoulders but he doesn’t touch me. He keeps a respectful distance, but his energy feels radioactive. It pulses with a heat that makes my skin prickle.
“Miss Zora! Are you alright? We got an alert that you were in crisis.”
I point a shaking finger at the Polaroid on the floor. I can’t find the words. My jaw feels locked, my throat tight with the taste of imaginary smoke.
He glances at the photo, then his forest-green eyes sweep the room with a lethal intensity. He stands and goes through the apartment, checking all the rooms before he comes back and stares down at the photo.“Whoever left this, they’re gone.”
For some reason, that’s not comforting. I frown and stare up at him from the floor. “Why are you here?”
“Your cortisol levels hit the red zone, and your heart rate spiked to a hundred and forty. The system triggered a priority-one emergency response. Urie had to step out for a moment, but he’ll be coming to check you over. I was the fastest responder to make sure you were alright.”
I look down at the matte black band on my right wrist. The small LED glows with a pulsing crimson. “How... how did you get here so fast? I only just screamed.”
Sawyer doesn’t blink. He gestures toward the open fire escape door, his jaw set in a hard, rigid line.
“I was on the twelfth-floor for a routine sensor check. When the alert hit my tablet, I didn’t wait for the lift. I took the stairs.”
He offers a hand to help me up. I take it and goosebumps spread along my arms.
“You’re safe now.”
I look at the fire escape.Is he telling the truth? What if he left the photo here?
Sawyer’s still here twenty minutes later. He moves through my penthouse, double-checking the closets, the balcony, and all the rooms. He handles the charred Polaroid with a pair of latex gloves he pulled from a pocket, placing it into a small plastic bag as if it contains the evidence of a murder.
“The elevator logs show no unauthorized entries. The biometrics stayed green all evening. No one called the lift to the thirteenth floor.”
He stops near the fire escape door. He looks at his tablet, his thumb tapping the screen with a restless, rhythmic cadence. I sit on the edge of the sofa, my legs tucked tightly against my chest.
“Then how did it get there? It wasn’t there an hour ago before I went down to the gym.” I wrap my arms around my knees, shivering as the air conditioning hums overhead. The sound usually provides calming white noise, but now it’s setting me more on edge.
He heads toward the elevator. “ I’m not sure. I’ll have Ethan run a full diagnostic on the elevator’s camera. If there’s a blind spot, we’ll find it. I’m stationing two men at the elevator on each floor. No one but the residents will use it. We’ll know if someoneunauthorized is in the building. You should try to get some sleep, Miss Zora. We have the perimeter locked down.”
I sigh. “Tell Urie I’m fine and I don’t need to be checked. I want to be left alone.”
A frown tugs at the corner of his lips. “Alright, but if you need anything, just hit the panic button on your wristband.”
