But you didn’t.
I’ve been living in it this whole time.
And the wolves aren’t the monsters.
The lambs are.
I don’t send it.I don’t even have his number.
I tug at the ring. It won’t budge. I twist harder.
I tighten my grip around the blade, knuckles aching, palm slick with sweat, the memory of his voice ghosting through myhead as he once corrected my stance and warned me about hesitation. The gold band fights back when the edge meets metal, resistance biting hard enough to make my wrist tremble, and the pressure sends a hot pulse straight through my hand and up my arm. My teeth clamp down as the sound of strain fills the room, thin and ugly, and pain flares when the edge slips, sharp and unforgiving, slicing skin along with gold.
A gasp tears out of my chest as blood wells fast, thick and bright, spilling over my finger and smearing across the sink, staining porcelain and dulling the shine of the ring in the same breath. My vision blurs but I do not stop, fingers shaking as the blade drags again, the effort burning through muscle and bone, every second stretching longer than the last. The pain grounds me, anchors me, reminds me why this matters.
Good. Let the gold remember me like this.
My breathing turns ragged as I stare at the red streaks pooling below, heart hammering hard enough to hurt. “I will die before they set the date,” I whisper, the vow scraping raw on the way out.
The next time I stand on that cliff, my eyes will not search the horizon.
The sea will not wait below.
The fall will take me whole.
The morning lightdoesn’t feel warm. Doesn’t even feel like light.
Classes are over. The corridors are almost empty, laughter echoing from somewhere.
My hand drags along the cold stone. I need to feel something.
Footsteps behind me, steady, hard. Conor.
I keep walking until his hand clamps around my arm.
“You’ve been avoiding me.”
“You finally noticed?”
His jaw tightens. “The family’s not happy. Rory said?—”
“Did he tell you he tried to force himself on me?” My voice cracks, too loud in the quiet hall.
Conor freezes. Just for a heartbeat, then the mask returns.
“That’s not what they said.”
“You believe them?”
“It doesn’t matter what I believe. You have a job, Aoife. One job.”
My throat burns. “A job? You mean marry him. Let him touch me. Let him own me?”
He looks away.
“I’m your blood,” I say. “I stood beside you every time Uncle Liam turned violent. I covered for you, and now you tell me it doesn’t matter?”
He flinches then hides it. “You do what’s asked. That’s how it’s always been.”
