I can’t tell her what I found. I can’t let her carry it with me. If I speak it aloud, if I give it a name, it won’t just be mine anymore, and I won’t paint a target on her back.
“I just… needed to get out,” I say at last, the words thin but steady. “Something didn’t feel right.”
It isn’t a lie. Just not the whole truth.
Tate studies my face, searching for the fractures I’m trying so hard to hide. She knows I’m holding something back, she always does, but she doesn’t push. Tate has a way of recognising when the truth would only draw blood if forced into the open.
“You can stay here as long as you want,” she says instead, softer now. “I’ve got an early shift, but make yourself at home, okay?”
I nod, relief tangling painfully with guilt in my chest.
If she knew what I know, it would put her in danger.
And I won’t do that to her.
As she turns to get ready, instinct overrides restraint. I reach out and catch her arm. She pauses, looking back just in time for me to collapse into her, my composure shattering. Tears come fast and hot, soaking into her shoulder as I cling to her like she’s the only solid thing left in the world.
“Thank you, Tate,” I choke, the words breaking apart as she wraps her arms around me without hesitation.
“Em,” she murmurs, holding me close. “I can call in sick. We can spend the day on the couch, watch stupid movies, order too much food.”
I pull back just enough to look at her, wiping my tears away with my sleeve. “No,” I whisper. “It’s okay. I just… needed a moment. To feel. To fall apart.”
Her expression softens, but her voice is unwavering. “I’m always here for you,” she says. “No matter what. Call me if you need anything.”
I nod, swallowing hard.
Because loving Tate like this, letting her hold me, only makes the silence heavier.
And the truth I’m hiding feels sharper than ever, pressing against my ribs, waiting for the moment it finally cuts its way out.
The moment the door closes behind her, the apartment exhales, and the silence rushes in.
It presses against my ears, thick and suffocating, too loud in all the ways that matter. I move straight for the bathroom, shutting the door and twisting the lock as if it might hold my thoughts at bay. As if I can keep him out.
Steam blooms as the shower heats, swallowing the room, fogging the mirror until my reflection dissolves into something unrecognisable.
Good.
I don’t want to see myself right now.
Under the spray, my mind turns brutal. Images collide without mercy, scattered papers, stark white pages, the wordtargetburned into my memory. Khai’s voice follows, low and intimate, murmuring against my skin like a secret meant only for me. His arms. Strong. Certain. The safest place I’ve ever known.
And the most dangerous.
I scrub at my skin until it stings, until heat blooms beneath my fingertips, as if I can scour him away. As if water and friction might erase knowledge. Might undo the truth of what he does.
Of what he is.
But I can’t.
He’s already under my skin, woven into me in a way I don’t know how to remove.
When I finally step out, wrapped in a towel, my hands tremble as I reach for my phone. My pulse skids, anticipation sharp and unwelcome.
I expect something.
A message. A missed call. A warning. A promise.
