Killian said his doctor friend had borrowed another doctor’s practice for my session. It was an old building in the Garden District with high ceilings, ornate crown molding, and tall windows that let in far too much sunlight for someone who might need to ugly cry.
I wanted the room dark.
Dr. Aris Thorne was waiting for us in the lobby. She was tall and lean, with blonde hair pulled back into a sleek low bun. Her eyes were a sharp, icy blue — the kind that looked like they saw straight through people.
“Chloe,” she said, extending her hand. “I’m Aris. Killian’s told me a lot about you.”
I glanced back at Killian. He stood in the middle of the lobby, hands shoved deep in his pockets, jaw tight.
“I’ll be right here,” he said.
“I know.”
“You ready?” Dr. Aris asked gently.
Before I could answer, Elara burst through the front door and crossed the lobby in three quick strides. She’d kept her promise. Even though she’d called to say her flight from Florida was delayed, she was here.
She pulled me into a tight hug before I could even speak — the kind of hug that saidI’ve got youwithout needing words.
“You’re going to be fine,” she whispered against my hair. “And when you’re done, we’re getting beignets.”
I nodded against her shoulder, holding on a second longer than necessary.
Reluctantly, I pulled away and followed Dr. Aris down the hallway. I wasn’t nervous exactly. I just didn’t want to be here. Part of me still wanted to wait until everything else was settled before unpacking all of this. Like if I waited long enough, the past might stay buried.
The office was smaller than I expected. Bookshelves lined the walls, overflowing with journals, hardcovers, and leafy plants that spilled over their pots. A deep couch faced a high-backed chair. A box of tissues sat ready on the side table like a warning.
Dr. Aris gestured for me to sit.
I sat.
She settled across from me, crossing her legs and folding her hands in her lap.
“How are you feeling, Chloe?”
“Annoyed.”
She smiled. “That’s honest.”
“I’m trying to be.”
The next hour passed in a blur of questions.
Some were easy. How old are you? Where were you born? What’s your favorite color?
Some were brutal. What do you remember about your mother’s death? How long were you kept in the attic? What did they tell you about yourself?
I answered every single one.
I told her about Olivia. About Caspian. About the poems I wrote in the dark. About using Killian to escape. About Mary and my momma.
Dr. Aris listened without interrupting, her face calm and unreadable.
When I finally fell silent, she stayed quiet for a long moment.
“Chloe,” she said at last, “there is nothing wrong with you that would stop you from controlling your own life.”
“I know.”
