Behind us, the bell over the door jingles. Blood rushes in my ears. Footsteps. It’s hard to swallow. A woman’s voice asks Janet about something, and I blink, forcing my panic back into the well where it hides.
I didn’t lose my mind when Terra controlled me, and I’m not going to allow it now that I’m free. Or as free as I’ll ever be, I suppose.
Valen’s lips move, but I don’t register the words as my gaze drifts over the store. It’s normal. Ordinary. Safe.
But nothing feels safe anymore.
“We should go,” Valen says quietly at my side. “Talk to Roman. Figure out next steps.”
I nod, but it’s hard to peel my gaze away from box 127. Fourteen years’ worth of letters sat behind that little brass door. Fourteen years of hope and heartbreak and desperately praying that somehow, someday, we’d find our way back to each other.
I’m drawn to it the way mosquitoes are to light, and I allow my finger to trace over the numbers. Someone was here. In this very space, invading my privacy, plotting to destroy the life I designed.
Every word, every vulnerable confession, every piece of my soul I poured onto paper—has been read by someone who wants to hurt me in some way.
“Clover.” Valen’s hand is on my arm now, gentle, but insistent. “We need to leave.”
“I want to see them. Any letters that are left behind. I want to know?—”
“We’ll come back with Roman. We can’t gain access to it without a warrant, and right now, we need to think this through.”
He’s right. We still don’t know nearly enough.
What happened here, Miriam?
One kind. One cruel.
What if—she couldn’t have…
“Clover?” Valen’s voice cuts through my spiral. “Where did you just go?” Concern is embedded in his features now.
“How did Terra die, Valen?”
His jaw is tight, his eyes scanning the small store as if he’s expecting an attack. “Heart attack. Let’s not jump to any conclusions, Clover. Not yet.”
We head toward the exit, but I pause at the door, looking back at Janet behind the register.
Completely normal.
The notes on the packages left on my doorstep come back to haunt me now.
The Deadly Vow of the Haunted Angel.
That foreboding sensation bears down on my chest again.
Obsession is forever, and mine is written in the blood of others.
Every note evoked a sense of dread, of what’s to come, that scared the shit out of me.
“Valen,” I whisper as we step outside. “What if Miriam’s dead too?”
What if we never find answers? What if I live in this fear for the rest of my life?
He stops on the sidewalk, the autumn sun suddenly too bright, too cheerful for the horror unfurling in my mind.
“We don’t know that.”
“What’s the alternative?” My voice cracks. “Two women. Identical. One disappears, and another takes her place? It would be a perfect plot for a thriller. Janet even said there was a drastic shift in personality. That’s?—”
