Opportunity like this doesn’t come twice.
And I won’t make the mistake of letting it pass.
CHAPTER 8
IVY
Idon’t move for a long time. Just sit there on the couch, phone in my hand, staring at Soren’s last message like it’s doing something to me.
When can you come?
It shouldn’t feel like this. It should be a normal question. But it doesn’t land that way.
It lands like something opening.
And my reply—Soon, maybe—sits underneath it like I already stepped through.
Adrian’s footsteps echo upstairs. A door shuts. His voice carries a second later—low, warm, practiced. Like he’s incapable of being cruel. Like I imagined the rest.
I exhale slowly. I don’t realize I’ve been holding it until it leaves me.
My hands are shaking. Not a lot. Just enough.
I stare at them like they belong to someone else. I’m not doing anything wrong. I’m not cheating. Not lying.
So why does it feel like I am?
I stand anyway. Move through the dining room. The hallway. Up the stairs. Quiet without meaning to be. Like I’ve learned how. Like I’ve always known how.
And I hate that.
In my room, I close the door behind me. The click is louder than it should be. Too final. Too deliberate. But my body loosens the second I hear it.
I sit on the bed, open my laptop, and pull up flights.
Ravelle.
My fingers hover over the keyboard. This is stupid. Reckless. Impulsive. Exactly the kind of thing Adrian would say I shouldn’t do.
I think about staying. About another week here. Another month. The air that never quite moves. The constant awareness of being watched, even when I can’t prove it. The way I’ve started second-guessing everything I think. The way I’ve started shrinking.
My throat tightens. I type in dates.
Soon.
That’s all I know.
The flights populate. Prices. Options. Too many choices. My brain stutters over all of it.
I don’t trust myself to pick correctly. That’s also a newish development. Or maybe it’s not. Maybe I just notice it now.
The fog has been extra bad lately. I lose time. Forget what I walked into rooms for. Start sentences I can’t finish.
And every time it happens, it hits the same way—sharp, humiliating, final. Like proof. Like evidence I’m becoming someone I don’t recognize.
My phone buzzes. I grab it too fast.
Soren:
