Silence.
She parts the hedge. Nothing.
Just shadows. And wind. And the taste of warning in the air.
She turns back toward me, composed as ever. Her tone cool but laced with quiet promise:
“Be smart, Isabella. This is your only chance to leave untouched.”
And then she’s gone—vanishing down the path like a ghost who knows she still owns the house.
62
Bella
The rooftop observatory wasn’t mentioned in the house tour. Then again, neither was the indoor rock-climbing wall, the underground bowling alley, or the room dedicated entirely to rare butterflies. At this point, I should stop being surprised by what this mansion contains.
The rooftop smells like cinnamon tea, metal, and stars. The air is cool but not cold—just enough to make you grateful for sleeves, just enough to make the sky feel closer.
Three old-fashioned telescopes are planted like silver soldiers along the edge of the patio, aimed at constellations I can’t name. Someone—probably Nikolai—dragged out two beanbags, a folded star chart, and a clipboard filled with scribbles I’d need a PhD to decode.
Lev is spinning one of the telescopes wildly like he’s about to launch it into orbit. He’s wearing socks, no shoes, and has somehow managed to get chocolate on his elbow.
“I’m telling you,” Nikolai says in that I-read-all-the-footnotes voice, “Orion isn’t a planet, Lev. It’s a constellation. You can’t land on it.”
“Says you,” Lev mutters, frowning into the telescope. “You don’t know. What if it’s a secret base?”
“Then the secret base would’ve already collapsed under stellar fusion,” Nikolai replies, deadpan.
Julian snorts beside me, legs sprawled, head tilted back as he scans the sky like he might actually find something other than stars.
“I give him five minutes before he says ‘wormhole,’” Julian murmurs.
“He’s already said it twice,” I say.
Lev whirls around. “Wormholes are real, by the way. Look it up.”
I smile despite myself. My stomach, however, does not.
We had pan-seared black cod in white wine garlic sauce for dinner. Normally, I’d fake a compliment and chew through it. But tonight? The moment it hit the table, I nearly dry-heaved into my water glass. Something about the smell—fish plus wine plus the faintest memory of seaweed—turned my insides into mush.
“I’m good,” I’d lied, pushing the plate away. “I had a late lunch.”
Now, seated cross-legged on a blanket, I’m sipping tea and fantasizing about dark chocolate. Or brownies. Or chocolateonbrowniesinsidecake.
My stomach gives a rude twist. I pretend it didn’t.
“Did you know,” Nikolai says suddenly, “that Betelgeuse is actually about to explode into a supernova, but it might’ve already happened centuries ago, and we just haven’t seen it yet because the light hasn’t reached us?”
Julian perks up. “That’s the red giant in Orion, right?”
Nikolai nods, eyes bright. “If it does explode, it’ll be visible during the day. Like a second sun.”
“That’s mental,” Lev says, instantly re-invested. “I wanna see that.”
“You’d have to wait a few hundred thousand years.”
“I’ll stay up.”
