And then he surprises me by resting his head on mine.
The air shifts. The fire crackles softly, painting our shadows across the floor. For a long time, neither of us speaks. We just sit there, two broken pieces of the same night, fitting together in silence.
His breathing evens out first, slower, steadier. Mine follows.
It feels dangerous, this closeness. Like standing on the edge of something I shouldn’t want. But for now, I let it be.
Because for the first time since the gunfire and blood, I don’t feel haunted. I just feel human.
10
Birdie
I wake up alone in the study, the fire burned down to embers. A blanket has been draped over me and for a disoriented second I think maybe I dreamed it all. The firelight, the quiet conversation, the weight of his arm around me.
But then I shift, and the faint scent of his cologne lingers in my hair. My stomach twists. It wasn’t a dream.
My first instinct is to get up and find Sienna, to tell her everything, to laugh about how strange her father is?—
Then it hits me.
She’s gone.
The thought lands like a punch to the chest. My throat tightens and hot tears blur my vision before I can stop them. I press the blanket closer around me, trying to hold in the ache threatening to spill out.
When I finally manage to stand, the world feels heavy and muffled, like I’m walking through the remnants of a dream I don’t want to wake from. I pull the blanket tighter as I shiver andmake my way toward the stairs, praying I can slip back to my room unnoticed.
But of course, my luck’s never that good.
Francesca stands in the foyer, poised and perfect in a pantsuit that probably costs more than my car. Her arms are crossed, one manicured eyebrow arching the moment she sees me.
“This isn’t your home,” she says, voice cutting through the silence like a blade. “Perhaps you should take care with how you dress, especially with my fiancé being here.”
Her meaning is unmistakable.
I clutch the blanket tighter, the sting of shame and anger burning under my skin. There are a thousand things I want to say—that I didn’t do anything wrong, that I don’t wanthim,that all I want is to breathe without guilt clawing at my chest—but the words won’t come.
So I say nothing.
I just turn and walk past her, keeping my head high even as my heart hammers in my chest. Her perfume follows me up the stairs, sharp and suffocating.
By the time I reach my room, my hands are shaking. I shut the door, lock it, and slide down the back of it until I’m sitting on the cold floor. The silence presses in, heavy and hollow, like the air itself knows something’s missing.
I just want to go home.
Only, I don’t even know what that looks like anymore.
It’s not the apartment that’s soaked in blood and ghosts. Sara would let me stay with her, I know that. She’d feed me and talk too much just to fill the silence. But the thought of seeing her, of trying to explain any of this, makes my chest ache.
Maybe I could leave it all behind. Move out West like Sienna always said she would one day. Find somewhere quiet.Somewhere no one knows my name. But would I really be living for me… or for her?
I don’t have the answer. I’m not sure I ever will.
I stay on the floor until my side starts to ache and the numbness becomes unbearable. Slowly, I push myself up and go to the bathroom.
Today, according to the doctor’s notes, I can shower. It feels like a small mercy, especially since it feels like it’s been forever since I felt clean.
The wound on my arm throbs with dull, stubborn pain, but it’s nothing compared to the bruising on my ribs from the injury I got the night Sienna died. I catch sight of myself in the mirror and stop cold.
