“Oh, no you don’t.” I grab my phone, yank the charger free, and shove it in my pocket.
The damn cat could probably figure out how to call her.
“I’m going to get a drink.” I point at him. “Don’t make any more messes.”
He blinks at me, unaffected.
I watch him as I back to the door, then turn and slip quietly from the room.
I’m halfway down the hall when something crashes.
At least it isn’t glass this time.
“Such a brat,” I mutter.
Opening them, I continue toward the kitchen, cursing Mr. Pickles under my breath.
I look out the patio doors as I pass?—
And stop.
I could’ve sworn someone was standing outside. A hood covered their head. Watching me.
I blink.
But there’s no one there.
Did I imagine it?
I had to.
My heart is beating faster as I continue on, glancing back once to make sure no one’s there.
You’re delusional.
The refrigerator hums as I step into the kitchen.
For the first time since I got here, the place feels… different. Not empty. Just… foreign.
Like something I’ve outgrown but still cling to because it’s familiar.
I grab a glass from the cabinet and fill it with water.
I lean against the counter and take a drink.
The smell of jasmine lingers in the kitchen.
Weird.
It smells exactly like Violet.
That’s impossible.
She left hours ago.
It’s just your imagination.
I take a long drink, trying not to think about her.
