The distance returns just as quickly as it vanished, leaving the warmth of his hand lingering on my waist long after it’s gone.I remain standing exactly where I was, still trying to catch my breath as he moves toward the doorway again.
At the threshold he pauses briefly.
“Your outfit looks nice on you,” he whispers.
This time there’s no sarcasm in his voice. No edge.
Just a simple statement before he turns and disappears down the stairs.
CHAPTER 5
Silas
The kitchen is quieter than I expected.
Octavia moves carefully beside the counter, her attention fixed on the cutting board as she chops through a small pile of herbs. The rhythm is precise but cautious, like she’s following instructions she’s memorized rather than something that comes naturally. Every movement mirrors Steph’s habits almost perfectly. The angle of the knife, the way she gathers the herbs into a neat pile, even the way she brushes stray pieces aside with the edge of her palm.
She cooks the way someone does when they’re afraid of making a mistake.
Her focus stays on the cutting board, but I can tell she knows I’m here. The tension in her shoulders gives it away. She doesn’t look at me directly, though her eyes drift past me once or twice, narrowing briefly before snapping back to whatever task she’s pretending requires all of her attention.
It’s obvious she’s still thinking about what happened upstairs.
I shouldn’t have touched her.
There had been a laundry basket in my own room. I had no reason to step into hers at all. It would have taken ten seconds to handle it myself.
But curiosity got the better of me.
That same curiosity is still there now, gnawing quietly in the back of my mind.
When she looks at me, does she only see what everyone else sees?
A murderer.
Or does she remember something else?
Leaning against the edge of the table, I watch her from a distance that looks casual enough not to draw attention. The light from the overhead fixture catches the edge of her hair where it’s tied back loosely, a few strands slipping free around her face.
Does she remember like I do?
“How are you settling in?”
Jacob’s voice cuts through the thought. His hand lands on my shoulder in a firm pat as he joins me at the table.
Steph had tried to get me involved in cooking earlier. That lasted about five minutes. The closer Octavia and I worked near each other, the more obvious the tension became. She bumped into me twice, shoulder to shoulder, pretending it was accidental. I could feel the irritation behind it.
It took more restraint than I’d like to admit not to grab those brown strands of hair when she brushed past the third time, and pull her close enough to make it very clear where the line between us stood.
Fear sits in her eyes when she looks at me.
That’s probably the safest thing for both of us.
Still, there’s something else there too.
Curiosity.
Some stubborn part of her keeps testing the edge, pushing just close enough to see how far I’ll let it go.
