“Speaking of that stablemaster. . .” I trailed off, unsure how Daddy would react. “I rode Hyacinth bareback and got caught by Aaron again.”
He smirked. “Violet, be more careful. Aaron seems like a good man from my few conversations with him, but he can’t condone breaking school rules.”
I bristled at his words, feeling society’s bindings tether me to consequences and expectations.What I would give to just be free and not controlled for a moment.
“I know, Daddy. I can’t say that I didn’t pull at his heartstrings a little, telling him how I’d ridden bareback as a child—"
“Don’t remind your mother about that. She nearlylost her mindseeing you on the beast’s back without a saddle.”
That pulled another laugh from me as we walked towards the barn, gravel crunching under our boots. The bright yellow wood groaned as Dad pulled the door open, sunlight streaming into the dim interior.Dust swirled in the light, catching on rough workbenches lining the barn wall. The faint hay smell that clung to everything wafted around me.
Inside, the place felt familiar and foreign at once. Beehives sat quietly along the far wall opposite the workbenches. Wildflowers that once colored the outside field had withered back into the soil. Even the air seemed to hold its breath.
Daddy walked over to a hive, running his hand along one, his face softening. “You remember how you were the one who wanted these? That presentation you gave us all about how bees help the land and the plants?”
“The Necessity of Bees Towards the Sustainability and Biodiversity of Their Ecosystems,” I said with a smile. “Yeah, I remember.”
He laughed and slapped the beehive. “That’s the one. You’d gotten all dressed up and called a family meeting to give us that PowerPoint. God, you couldn’t have been more than ten or eleven.”
I traced my fingers over the worn table edge, wood scarred from years of tools biting into it. “Yeah. . . I was brilliant even then, wasn’t I?”
“Brilliant and fearless. Definitely humble,” he said with a grin. “Marching right up to the bees without a suit until I nearly lost my mind yelling.”
I smiled and turned towards the greenhouse window overlooking dormant garden beds. Years of memories filled with love, Hyacinth, and family. Then for a heartbeat, I felt thatotherme: nine years old, crying in a warehouse, broken in ways I didn’t know how to fix. My chest tightened, and I shoved the thought down before it could choke me.
Daddy’s voice pulled me back. “You okay?”
I forced a small nod. “Yeah. Just lost in old memories.”
I bit the inside of my cheek, nerves curling low in my stomach. This was why I’d asked him to come here first. To remind myself that I was still me, raised by a family who loved me and that I was here in this present, not trapped in some nightmare from another timeline.
But I wanted to hunt my own monster. I wanted to bring Edward Fitzgerald down and stamp justice on his soul. And for that, I needed the one thing my father had access to: my money.
The word felt dirty, but it pressed against me like a weight. I hated myself because I wasn’t asking for books or food or rent. I was asking forsomething I couldn’t explain without dragging him into the shadows of my first life.
I looked at him again, his broad frame bent over the hive, his large hands handling the boxes with care. This was my father, who had fought to hold our family together, who had burned and broken and rebuilt just so I could have a home to run to. I should feel safe with him, but anxiety coiled as I wondered how he’d react to my request.
I drew in a breath, holding it until it ached. I couldn’t ask for the money yet. Not here, surrounded by the love he’d built for me. I couldn’t ruin this moment of us together in the barn that still smelled like honey and woodsmoke—while I could still pretend I was just his little girl.
“Show me the greenhouse additions,” I said softly, forcing a smile. “Before Mom starts wondering where you’ve misplaced me.”
He chuckled, shaking his head, and motioned towards the door. But the tension in my chest stayed, heavy and waiting. The money conversation would have to come later, when the weight of what I needed it for wouldn’t shatter the peace between us.
Chapter 4
Rowan
The rope lay across my lap, soft jute coiled in patient lines, as I practiced another variation of a leg tie. I knew my nerves well enough by now that this was a calming technique: my therapy, my meditation. A way to remind myself where I ended and where this new world began.
Remembering ties had come easily to me. The application was a little harder since I could only ever practice on myself or the mannequin in the corner of the room. I reminded myself to be careful, to put no pressure on the peroneal nor compression on the femoral.
Shibari was supposed to be artistic and hurt in the right places, not cripple you.
I heard him before he appeared. Steady footsteps that hesitated right before my open door as Charlie hovered nearby, uncertain whether to intrude. The sound of his elevated heartbeat reached my ears—anxiety wrapped in parental concern, a rhythm I had learned to recognize in this strange second life.
“Hey,” Charlie said, voice threading through the low grunge vibrating from my speakers. He had dressed in running gear, white on white, his own cure when he wanted to outrun something gnawing at him. The smell of deodorant clung to him. He probably came straight from stretching before his run.
I did not look up as I greeted him. “Is everything okay?”
