My hand scrapes against the floor until it brushes soft cotton. The bathmat. I press it hard to the wound. Please don’t need stitches. Don’t let it be that deep.
I’m alone. Alone. But then—
“Wren!”
The voice rips through me. My body seizes as terror floods my veins like poison. I choke on sobs, shaking uncontrollably. Tears stream down my cheeks. My lungs can’t catch air.
“Wren!” Louder. Closer. A shadow looms. Hands grab at me—real, solid, anchoring.
What the—
Gasping, my eyes fly open. My chest heaves like I surfaced from the bottom of the lake. My hand clutches my sternumthat’s damp with sweat. The dream lingers like smoke, curling in the corners of my mind even as the room sharpens into focus.
Light slants through the blinds in golden stripes. The familiar scent of detergent and lemon furniture polish grounds me. I’m not in LA. I’m not bleeding on cold tile. I’m home. In my childhood bedroom. Safe.
My lashes are still wet, vision blurring, when a soft hand brushes my hair back from my face. “Wren, honey.”
I blink, and there she is—Grandma Warren, perched on the edge of my bed, worry carved into every delicate line of her face. Her thumb sweeps my temple like my mother used to when I was a kid with a fever.
“Sorry, Grams,” I rasp, sitting up straighter, tugging the blanket tight against my chest. “Bad dream. Didn’t mean to scare you.”
Her brow pinches, eyes—same as my mother’s—searching my face. “Are you sure you’re okay, Pumpkin?”
I cover her hand with mine, forcing a smile that I pray looks steadier than I feel. “I’m okay. Just…a rough couple of days.”
She hums like she doesn’t quite believe me. “If you say so. You know Gramps and I are always in your corner.”
Warmth swells in my chest, fragile but real. God, I’ve missed this.Them. Instead of answering, I squeeze her hand. She leans down, presses a kiss to my sweaty forehead, and rises with a soft groan.
“When you get around, would you mind running a casserole over to the Riggsbys? Lydia hasn’t been feeling well, and heaven knows we can’t let Harold starve.”
“Of course,” I murmur. “Let me shower first.”
She gives me one last lingering look before shuffling toward the hall. “Be careful, kiddo,” she says softly. Then she’s gone, leaving me with the echo of her words and the hollow thud of my racing heart.
I flop back against the pillows, dragging a breath deep into my lungs. Home. Safe. Except safety feels paper-thin when myphone lights up on the nightstand. Against my better judgment, I reach for it.
A wall of notifications. Missed calls. Texts stacked like bricks meant to crush me.
Elias
Thought you could run? You won't last a month without me. Come home, little mouse…or I’ll find you.
Elias
Come home, baby. We can talk this through.
Elias
You always were a selfish bitch.
Elias
Call me. I can do better.
Elias
What the hell are these papers? You think anyone’s going to believe this?
