The thought claws at the back of my mind as I watch Levi’s grin widen.
“You’re allowed to leave now.” Koen sits on the couch and leans back, satisfied. “See you tomorrow, Little Thief.”
Little Thief?
TEN
A wave of dizziness washes over me as I slowly wake up from a dreamless nap, and my stomach growls, a low rumble in the silence of my room. The curtains are drawn, the room steeped in a darkness that mirrors the state of my soul. The faint smell of stale cigarettes lingers in the air, mixing with the heavy weight of isolation.
I shift, and that’s when I feel it—a weight on my chest, the gentle rise and fall of a small body.
I crack an eye open and find two glowing eyes staring back at me, unblinking.
Of course.
The damn cat.
“Really, Jinx?” I mutter, trying to roll over, but she only settles deeper into my chest, her tail flicking lazily.
Her green gaze is piercing, relentless. I blink, trying to figure out how she even got in here, and when I glance at the door, I notice it’s ajar.
Did someone let her in?Or did she push it open herself?
It wouldn’t surprise me if she had.The cat can do magic.
She’s the only one who cares enough to check if I’m still alive, still breathing. The others have given me space, but Jinx? She never lets me hide for too long.
She’s been here so many times to wake me up, pulling me out of the pit I’ve dug for myself. And every time, without fail, it works because she won’t stop staring, won’t stop pressing her little paws into me until I stand and do what she wants.
Jinx is relentless, a constant, and part of me hates that I need it, need her, to keep moving.
Her eyes bore into me now, and it’s like she knows, knows I can’t stand being looked at anymore. Not after everything. Not after the way they stared at me in prison, sizing me up, waiting for me to break, or worse. Not after the way those guards used to watch me, like I was less than human, like I was a thing to be controlled, handled, punished.
I hate it. The weight of someone’s gaze, the way it makes my skin crawl. Even now, three years out, I can still feel their eyes on me, waiting for me to mess up. It’s like they’re burned into my memory, ghosts I can’t shake.
Oscar knew that. He saw it from the moment he walked into my cell. I didn’t have to tell him what prison had done to me. He just knew. He saw me, and for some reason, he decided I was worth saving.
When I got out, it wasn’t like flipping a switch. I was still a mess, a fucking shell of a person. I’d barely survived prison, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to survive the outside world. But Oscar? He didn’t give up. Not once. He stuck by me like it was his personal mission to pull me out of the hole I’d dug for myself. He didn’t push too hard or expect me to magically heal overnight. He was just there. Patient. Steady. Always knowing when to talk and when to simply sit in silence.
He acted like my damn therapist without even trying. There were days when I couldn’t even leave the couch, and he’d sitnext to me, flipping through some random magic book, casually asking if I wanted to learn a new trick. Other times, he’d take me on long drives in that ridiculous red Mustang of his, blasting music and pretending like we were just two guys killing time. But every mile we drove, every stupid joke he made, chipped away at the weight pressing down on me.
It wasn’t just the big moments, like the first time I went out in public or the first time I laughed without feeling like a fraud. It was the small ones, too, the way he’d hand me a cup of coffee in the morning without a word or he’d sit with me during the nights I couldn’t sleep. He made me feel human again.
And somehow, without even noticing, I started wanting to live again. I wanted to show up for him the way he showed up for me. I started working with the twins, helping with their schemes, and, for the first time in years, I felt like I had a purpose.
Oscar didn’t just save my life. He gave me a reason to want it back.
By the time he died, I’d gotten to a point where I could go out and enjoy the world again, at least a little. As long as the guys were with me, I could step outside without the walls closing in. We’d go to bars or magic shows, even just wander around the Strip for hours. It wasn’t perfect. I still couldn’t stand being alone in a crowd and still caught myself checking every shadow for danger. But with them by my side, I could almost forget the fear. I could almost pretend I was normal.
Almost.
And then he was gone.
Now, I’m right back where I started, locked inside my head. Only this time, there’s no Oscar to drag me out of it.
It’s been months since I’ve left the house. Hell, I’m barely able to leave this room most days. The thought of stepping outside is enough to send my heart racing, my chest caving as if there’s a weight on it. This house has become a different kind ofjail—a place I’ve built around myself, with walls just as high and unbreakable.
I don’t belong out there anymore.
