Everything—the waterpark, the bookstore, the B&B, the story about the knight and the dragon—was a lie. A performance. A way to keep me docile until the order came through.
Why did I ever expect anything different? I’m a God damned fool for thinking this whole Daddy and Little thing was real for him.
I scramble out of bed, my legs shaking.
Clothes. Backpack. Shoes.
I dress in seconds—jeans, hoodie, sneakers. Shove Claw into the bag on top of everything else. Zip it. Sling it over both shoulders.
I don’t look back at the bed.
I don’t look at the phone again.
I slip out of the room, down the staircase—quiet, quick—past the parlor where Maichael’s shortbread still sits under a glass dome. The front door is unlocked. I step outside into pale morning light.
Move. Move. Move.
No time to waste.
The small town is still half-asleep. A few cars parked along Main Street. A bakery sign glowing. A bus stop shelter fifty yards away, the same one I noticed when we arrived last night.
I run.
Sneakers slap pavement. Backpack bounces. Breath burns in my lungs.
Tears blur my vision.
I thought hecared.
I thought he wasprotectingme.
I thought…
The bus stop comes into view. A small shelter, a bench, a posted schedule. I don’t care where the bus is going, but it doesn’t look like I have long until it leaves.
I just need to be out of here before Ivan comes back.
Before he decides to follow orders. Before the knight decides the dragon is too dangerous to keep alive after all.
As I run, one thought dominates my mind…
Is the man I called Daddy the one who plunges a dagger deep into my heart for real?
I arrive at the bus stop gasping, my lungs burning, legs trembling from the flat-out sprint.
My chest heaves as I skid to a stop just as the silver-and-blue intercity bus is about to depart. Luckily for me though, the driver appears sympathetic to my tardiness.
The doors hiss open. The driver, a middle-aged man with a thick mustache, glances down at me with a skeptical look on his face and not a whole ton of patience in his voice.
“Hurry up,” the driver drawls.
I stumble up the steps, backpack swinging wildly against my hip.
“Ticket to the city,” I manage, my voice cracking.
The driver looks at me expectantly, hand resting on the fare machine.
I freeze.
