I think about Zane’s voice while I do it.Make it hard for them. Make yourself difficult.
I swallow.
“I’m trying,” I whisper into the empty space.
The words sound small in here. I hate that. So I try something else, I close my eyes.
“You always said I was stronger than I think I am, Evie,” I murmur. “So I’m going to need that to be true right now.”
Nothing answers back.
Of course nothing answers back.
But the act of saying it, of reaching for a softness instead of letting the fear harden me into a person I don’t recognize, keeps me anchored.
I breathe again.
But the sharp sound of the door opening stops any calm from overcoming me.
I freeze.
The scrape of metal is louder this time, sharper in the silence. Light spills in, cutting across the floor, and I squint against it before my eyes adjust.
Cole steps inside like nothing has changed.
Like I’ve been waiting for him.
Like this is normal.
“Well,” he says, glancing at my hands behind me, then back at my face. “Still working on that?”
I don’t answer.
He takes a few steps in, then stops, studying me in that same quiet, assessing way.
“You’re persistent,” he adds. “I respect that.”
“I don’t care,” I say.
His mouth curves faintly. “No. You wouldn’t.”
He moves to the side, out of the direct line of the light, and pulls something from his pocket.
A phone.
My stomach drops.
He turns it over once in his hand, then looks at me. “We’re going to send a message.”
I go very still.
“No,” I say.
He ignores that.
“Not a panic-stricken meltdown,” he continues, almost conversational. “I don’t need tears. I don’t need hysteria. That doesn’t help me.”
My pulse is picking up again, fast and sharp.
