He spent the whole day in Angel’s office, doodling on papers that I’m sure were important, but Angel didn’t even blink.He just printed more and let Monkey draw all the ugly, colorful patterns he wanted.
Batting his eyelashes to make us dance to his tune hasbecome August’s superpower. That’s how he had Seiji running in and out of the office to get him every snack under the sun.
By the end of the day, the little guy burped so loud I swear people on the floor below us heard him.
I was surprised that August warmed up to Seiji and Angel faster than the girls. Considering our history, I was expecting the opposite.
It’s adorable how August gets all shy and tongue-tied around Grace. But what I didn’t see coming was the sweet friendship blossoming between Hazel and Monkey. Hazel surprised me by going above and beyond to make August not just comfortable buthappyaround her.
Just the other day, I walked in on the siren trying to teach August the proper stance for throwing a dagger. Fortunately, before I had a heart attack, I saw that she was using a wooden practice blade, but the boy isthree,for fuck’s sake.
Watching August peacefully sleeping with the toy clutched to his chest, I’m eternally grateful to be alive. After everything we’ve been through, it’s good to see him be a kid again.
It’s hard to believe it’s been three weeks since we escaped from the coven. Everything still feels like a fever dream, especially because I’ve been running on the same six hours of sleep I got on my first night here. Saying I’m exhausted doesn’t even scratch the surface.
I keep trying to act like my mate and his friends, but with each passing day, it only becomes clearer how fucked up I am compared to them.
I can’t sleep, no matter how wrecked my body is. I can barely stomach food twice a day, and my humor makes everyone uncomfortable because it usually tends to include words like prisoner, blood, starving, and beatings.
Hazel is the only one who laughs at my jokes. Everyone else keeps staring like they’re expecting me to have a meltdown. Grace—ironically, the most uncomfortable with my dark humor—says it’s an entirely normal trauma response.
Honestly, Angel and Grace are the only sane ones in thisgroup. If they can tolerate Seiji and Hazel, then my slightly unhinged ramblings should be a piece of cake.
I was surprised when Grace knocked on my door last week and offered to show me the videos she had taken of Papa over the years.
Seeing his face again after so long fixed something inside me that I thought was permanently broken. I swear I was holding back tears the whole time.
I loved the one where he was full-on belly-laughing. Grace mostly captured him when he was in a good mood, but the lump in my throat got harder to swallow when I realized even his happiness looked different now.
His smile doesn’t make the corners of his eyes crinkle like it used to. His chin wasn’t raised high enough. He actively avoided eye contact.
When Papa blew out the candle on a small cupcake for his birthday, tears started flowing down his cheeks between laughs, and I couldn’t stop the sob that escaped me. For a second, his disguise slipped, and I didn’t recognize the man behind the mask.
Grace saw me wiping my tears, but didn’t say anything. Instead, she linked her arm with mine and distracted me with a story about how Papa told her that touching a boy who wasn’t her mate could give her a nasty infection.
So when 15-year-old Grace got her first hug from Seiji, she panicked. She spent weeks terrified that she could have gotten infected before she finally confronted Papa. The man wasn’t even sorry—just disappointed that his lie didn’t hold for a few more years.
I silently laugh to myself as I wander around the penthouse in the dead hours of the night. Since I can’t fall asleep, this has become my nightly routine. I either try to jog up my memories or replay the events of the day.
It took me a while to admit it, but I’m afraid the damage in my head will make me forget the new memories I’m making with my new family. The second I feel myself slipping, I’ll askAngel for help.
When I get bored with walking around, I return to my room to kill some time before sunrise. I plop down on the couch in the corner, grab the storybook that Grace likes to read to August, and start flipping through it.
The day Monkey decided to sleep in my room, I knew waking up screaming from a nightmare wasn’t an option anymore. I’m so tired I can feel the exhaustion seeping into my bones.
I regret not asking Angel to keep an eye on me while I take a nap. I don’t know how much longer I can do this without breaking.
“Are you trying to hide, little girl?”
A pressure on my throat jolts me awake. I try to claw at whatever is pinning me down to get out of the tight grip, but there’s nothing. The chokehold is invisible.
Fuck,not again.
The longer it takes me to break out of my daze, the harder it gets to breathe, and the sound of my broken gasps fills the room.
I can’t wake August. If he thinks we’re not safe here, it will ruin his progress.
I force my legs to move, but they’re shaking so violently I collapse to the floor. My whole body is paralyzed with fear as I blindly crawl to the door until my head bumps into the doorframe.
