"Phoenix," I say quietly. "What if I said something wrong? What if our stories don't match exactly?"
"They match. We prepared for this."
"But they asked me things we didn't prepare for. Little things. The exact date we arrived at the cabin. Whether I felt uncomfortable around Marcus. Details I had to make up on the spot."
He reaches for my hand, his grip warm and steady. "It's going to be okay."
I want to believe him. I want to trust that we covered our tracks, that our stories aligned, that the detectives are satisfied with our answers and will move on to other suspects.
But I can't stop seeing the red light of the camera, blinking in the corner of that gray room.
I can't stop wondering what Phoenix said in his interview that he's not telling me.
CHAPTER 10- JADE
The nightmares come every night now.
I'm back in the cabin, always the cabin, with Marcus's hands around my throat and his breath hot against my face. I can smell him. I can feel the rough wood of the wall against my back, the zip ties cutting into my wrists, the absolute certainty that I'm about to die.
And then Phoenix appears, fire poker in hand, and the sounds start. The wet crack of metal against bone. The gurgling noises Marcus makes as he falls. The silence that follows, somehow worse than the violence that preceded it.
I wake up screaming, drenched in sweat, my heart pounding so hard it feels like it might burst through my chest. Phoenix is there instantly, pulling me against him, murmuring words I can't quite hear over the rush of blood in my ears. He holds me until the shaking stops, until my breathing evens out, until I can almost convince myself that I'm safe.
But I don't feel safe. I haven't felt safe since we walked out of that police station three days ago.
The interview plays on a loop in my mind, every question dissected, every answer analyzed for potential weakness. Did I hesitate too long when they asked about Marcus? Didmy voice waver when I lied about the cabin? Are Nowak and Reeves sitting in some conference room right now, circling inconsistencies in red ink, building a case that will destroy us both?
Phoenix says we're fine. He says our stories matched, that the detectives have nothing concrete, that if they were going to arrest us they would have done it already. But I see the tension in his shoulders when he thinks I'm not looking. I hear him pacing the house at three in the morning when he thinks I'm asleep.
The days blur together in a haze of anxiety and exhaustion. I try to write, but the words won't come. I try to read, but I can't focus long enough to finish a paragraph. I try to eat, but everything tastes like cardboard and sits in my stomach like lead. I'm disappearing, shrinking into myself, becoming a ghost in my own life.
And Phoenix is making it worse.
It starts small. He suggests I stay home instead of going to the grocery store. He offers to run errands himself so I don't have to leave. He mentions, casually, that it might be better if I keep a low profile for a while, just until things settle down.
At first, I appreciate his concern. He's trying to protect me, trying to keep me safe from prying eyes and potential threats. But the suggestions become expectations, and the expectations become rules, and before I know it I'm trapped in this beautiful glass cage overlooking the ocean with no way out.
One day, I catch him scrolling through my phone while I'm in the shower. When I confront him, wrapped in a towel and dripping water onto the bathroom floor, he doesn't even have the grace to look guilty.
"I'm just making sure no one suspicious has been contacting you," he says, as if that makes it okay. As if I wouldn't tell him if they had. As if I'm keeping secrets from him now.
"That's my phone, Phoenix. My private messages. My life.”
"Our lives are connected now." He sets the phone down on the counter, his expression unreadable. "What affects you affects me. I need to know what's happening.”
I want to argue, but I'm too tired. I take my phone and retreat to the bedroom, telling myself it's a one-time thing. He's scared. We're both scared. People do irrational things when they're scared.
Then, I discover the tracking app.
I'm trying to order an Uber to go to the bookstore down the road, just for an hour, just to feel normal for a few minutes, when I notice the new icon on my phone. A small blue dot I don't recognize. When I tap it, a map opens up, showing my exact location in real time.
My hands start to shake.
I find Phoenix in his office, staring at his laptop, and hold up my phone so he can see the screen.
"What is this?”
He glances up, and I watch his face shift. "It's a safety precaution.”
