Traitorously, my brain starts to compare the cottage Wolf “gifted” me with this apartment I suddenly find myself in. It’s downright terrifying to allow even an ounce of comfort I feel here. In contrast with the rage that simmered in my bones when I saw the cottage.
It’s almost as though I’m comparing Wolf’s methods to Ruin’s. But there’s one thing they’ve both done that still rattles me.
Trixie and Juggles.
They kicked them out—unceremoniously. I’ve heard the gossip plenty of times from Ol’ Ladies. Especially Lana, Hound’s Ol’ Lady. That sweet yet feisty woman told me the story plainly. The colorless version of them being here one day, and gone the next.
Everyone believed Wolf and Ruin did it out of anger, even justice. But I know why they did it. It’s been plain as ever.
Guilt. Penance.
They probably didn’t want reminders of that night. And getting rid of the two club girls was an easy fix. Wrong—but easy.
This apartment, however, feels different. It doesn’t register as a band-aid over the massive gash I possess. It’s a stitch. A single stitch, and I hate I’m even considering it as one.
I don’t remember when I push myself off the barstool. Or when I trudge down to the bedroom and collapse over the covers. Not even when sleep finally overwhelms me.
When I wake up, it’s already 8:37 a.m. I had looked over to my left, almost out of reflex. And there it was, my digital clock on the nightstand.
The similarities to my apartment are unsettling and soothing in equal measure. But when I blindly walk toward the bathroom with one eye closed, I don’t think. I carry on my routine I was forced to abandon a few weeks ago.
The comforting familiarity is so strong I’m almost certain I’ll be receiving a ping on my laptop. Then I’ll amble over to start my tutoring session. I can almost hear one of my students starting to grumble about the SAT stress.
There’s one massive difference, though.
The shelf, fully covering the door I was dragged out of—stacked with my books from Craven Ridge. You won’t even know there was a door here unless you move the teak monstrosity.
I swallow hard at the detail.
He thought of everything, didn’t he?
I groan loudly, hands dragging over my face. Shaking off the cold memories and the muddled perception of Ruin, I square my shoulders.
I’m about to head out, perhaps nibble half-heartedly at breakfast in the clubhouse kitchen when I brighten up slightly.
Let’s see how thorough you were, Ruin.
I’m ready for scoffing, perhaps even a little bit of laughter at the possibility of an empty refrigerator. But the damn thing is stocked. Eggs, bacon, vegetables, a massive loaf of bread, apple juice—fucking hell. It’s a frickin’ grocery store in here.
Fine. You win this time.
An hour later, I’m almost singing to myself. My fork dancing over the plate for the last bite of my scrambled eggs, the last strip of bacon enticing me.
I pause at the sink when I’m done. This is the first full meal I’ve had in weeks—not just breakfast. A hearty, proper meal I didn’t leave halfway through.
I swallow audibly, forcing the thoughts away. Half my mind is thinking about how this apartment is the best thing to happen since I came back to Whiterun—to Wardens.
The other half wants to strangle Ruin. Shake him until his teeth rattle. Wrench the softened parts out of him—the sudden one-eighty he seems to have made.
A knock sounds at the door. My door.
I frown, walking over to see who it is. The moment I open the door, I beam.
“So this is what he’s done, huh?” Mama Deb smiles, looking beyond my shoulder.
I chuckle and let her in.
“Well, I’d rather have our gossip sessions here instead of that room upstairs,” she says, plopping down on the couch with a slight bounce.
