I turn away before she can see my face crumble, attacking the suitcase with renewed desperation. The zipper finally gives, and I yank it closed with more force than necessary.
The Sartoris have been good to you. All of them.
Nico too.
Don't think about him.
But I can't stop. The way he looked at me when he admitted he kept the truth about the debt because he was scared I'd leave. The crack in his voice when he said he couldn't let me go.
He made choices for you. Just like Jack.
The comparison isn't fair and I know it. Jack controlled me to diminish me. Nico controlled me to... what? Protect me? Keep me?
Does the reason matter when the result feels the same?
I grab my phone and pull up the cab app. My fingers hover over the screen.
You could stay. Talk to him. Work this out.
But I can't think here. Can't breathe.
I need distance. I need my cramped apartment with the broken toaster and the cracked bathroom mirror. I need something that's mine, even if it's falling apart.
The cab confirmation pings. Twelve minutes.
"Lily, grab your backpack. We're going on an adventure."
She doesn't look excited. She looks like she's trying very hard not to cry, and that nearly destroys me more than anything else.
I take her hand and lead her toward the door, leaving behind the canopy bed and the stuffed rabbits and the life I almost let myself want.
The hallway stretches endless ahead of us.
I don't look back.
Nico
The phone buzzes against my thigh.
"Sir." Liam's voice is clipped. "A cab just pulled up to the front gate. Kristen and Lily are inside with two suitcases."
I close my eyes. The bathroom mirror lies in shards across the marble floor, glittering like stars that fell wrong. Blood drips from my wrapped hand onto the white tile. Drip. Drip. Drip.
"Let them go."
Silence on the other end. Liam isn't the type to question orders, but I can feel his hesitation through the phone.
"Sir—"
"I said let them go." My voice comes out dead. Flat. Like something scraped off the bottom of a grave. "Put a man on her. Day and night. I want eyes on that apartment building around the clock. She doesn't take a breath without us knowing."
"Understood."
I hang up before he can say anything else. Before he can ask questions I don't have answers to. Before he can hear the way my breathing has gone ragged and wrong.
The towel around my hand is already soaked through. Red blooms across the white cotton like roses dying in fast-forward. I should probably get stitches. I should probably care.
I don't.
