“No. This was all self-inflicted. I swear.” It’s the truth. At least about how I feel now. Any bruises from earlier are already gone.
“Okay.” He steps back, his massive frame shrinking in a shimmer until he’s his ferret self again. He clambers onto the bed and curls into the blanket, likely tired from the evening bug hunt and run I know he’s just been on. “Let’s go to bed then.”
“That sounds perfect,” I admit, meaning every word so long as I can close my eyes without reliving the worst parts of the night. “I just need a quick shower first.”
He doesn’t reply. And that silence hurts worse than any reprimand, because deep down I didn’t really want him to let this go. I wanted him to press until I broke. To make me confess. To tell me everything was going to be okay.
Except I’ve ruined that as well.
With slumped shoulders, I head for the bathroom and scrub myself raw under the hottest water I can stand. At least my skin comes clean, even if the rest of me doesn’t.
Wrapped in a robe, I change into pajamas with shaking hands and crawl into bed. My body trembles, myteeth threaten to chatter, and I don’t know how to stop it. The more time that passes, the more I hate what I’ve done. I hate what I might become. Most of all, I hate the suffocating truth that there’s nothing I can do to take any of it back.
Archie pads closer and curls against my chest, his small body heavy in the best way. His nose presses against my chin as he speaks, voice quiet but firm. “Whatever this is, Rowan—even if you want to fight it yourself—please know you’re not alone. I’m always here for you.”
The tears I’ve been swallowing spill over, hot and relentless. The words tear themselves out of me before I can stop them.
“I killed someone tonight.”
He’s silent for a beat, but then says the exact right thing. “But I have no doubt that you wouldn’t have if you’d had any other choice.”
We leave it at that, and with his love and support surrounding me, I finally allow myself to close my eyes, but I don’t have high hopes for sleep. Not when the bedroom still smells faintly of death and secrets.
By the timesunlight pries me out of bed, my head feels stuffed with wool and regret. I’m on my side, and Archie’s curled in the crook of my arm like a furry paperweight, his steady breathing the only thing that kept me from completely unraveling throughoutthe night.
I’m tempted to stay here forever, but the house is already awake, and hiding won’t stop the gnawing fear thatsomeone knows.
Well, someone besides Archie now.
Either way, it’s time to face the world. To pretend everything is normal and see if anyone else is doing the opposite.
Archie stirs when I slide out from under him. “You don’t look any better than last night,” he mumbles, whiskers twitching.
“Thanks. Just what every girl wants to hear first thing in the morning.”
“Do you want to talk about what you shared?” he asks, watching me closely.
“Not yet, if you don’t mind.”
He rolls over before coming to the edge of the bed and standing on his back legs. “I’m just glad you trusted me and that you’re okay. Physically, at least.”
I scratch the top of his head. “Me too.”
Once I’ve taken care of getting ready for the day, I head downstairs with Archie on my shoulder. Something tells me he won’t be leaving my side anytime soon, but that’s nowhere near a bad thing.
The dining hall hums with chatter and the scrape of silverware as we approach. The smell of bread and bacon wafting toward me should be comforting, but all it does is turn my stomach. I brace myself and step in, scanning faces like a paranoid fugitive.
Does Liz glance at me too long? Did Iris pause before buttering her toast? Cade’s eyes catch mine, and my heart trips over itself.They know. They all know.
I slide into my usual seat, pretending my legs aren’t trembling. Archie plops onto the bench beside me, his little ferret tail flicking like he’s daring anyone to question his place at the table.
“Morning,” Liz says, offering me a small smile.
“Morning,” I reply, too brightly. My voice cracks like a bad instrument. Smooth, Rowan. Very inconspicuous.
Silence hovers for a second too long, broken only when Archie stretches out, yawning theatrically. “She didn’t sleep,” he announces, as if outing me for insomnia is helpful.
I lightly tap his head, and he squeaks, indignant.
