“Becky.”
Not a question.
I don’t move. I don’t breathe.
Chapter twenty-eight
Lying
Becky
The footsteps stop. For a single, suspended second, there’s nothing. Only the pounding of my heart.
Then the faint edge of his shadow spills down the first curve of the stairs. It stretches, elongating, distorting, until it becomes monstrous, flickering and shifting as if alive. Whatever light he carries makesit dance.
I trace the shadow to its source in time to see his feet on the stairs, followed by his legs, his trim waist, his chest, his shoulders, his arms.
He comes down slowly, giving me enough time to regret every decision I’ve ever made in my short, somewhat miserable life, a life that probably ends tonight.
By the time his head should come into view, I squeeze my eyes closed. A child’s instinct, if I can’t see him, he can’t see me. Like if I try hard enough, I can make this all go away.
There’s the snap of flame, its flicker bright even through my closed eyelids.
Carrson must’ve brought a torch to light his way, maybe one of the ones I saw protruding from the wall in the staircase.
He stops.
Even with my eyes closed, I can feel him staring at me.
“Becky,” he says after a minute of tense silence. “Look at me.”
It takes every ounce of willpower to pry my eyes open.
What I see makes me want to slam them back shut.
Carrson stands at the bottom of the stairs, a blazing torch held high in his right hand. It casts one side of his face in red, the other in shadow, as if he’s split clean down the middle.
Neither of us speaks.
His gaze moves from me to the room, sweeping over it, taking in the table, the knife, the symbols carved into the floor, the brazier, the rod. Then back to me.
There’s no confusion in his expression.
Only understanding.
Still, he asks, “What are you doing down here?”
“I—I didn’t know where you went. I was—” My words fall apart before they even make it out.
His gaze flicks to my hands, wrapped around the flashlight. “Was what?”
The question is a trap, claw-edged and ready to spring shut.
I shake my head, pressing my back further into the stone. “I found the key. I didn’t think—”
“No.” He cuts me off. “Stop lying.”
The words hang there. Final.
