It’s been about five weeks since I came home.
I’m sitting in the garden with Lorraine at lunchtime, the sun warm on my skin but not too harsh thanks to the big umbrella over our table. I’m wearing black denim shorts and a matching polo shirt that Selina helped pick out last week. It feels strange sometimes, looking like I actually belong here, like I’m part of Soren’s world instead of just hiding in the edges of it.
My hair has finally started behaving. I’ve gotten into the habit of using the proper curling gels and shampoos, and I actually like how it looks now. Today I let that one stubborn curl fall over my forehead on purpose. I know it drives Soren crazy.
Lorraine sets her teacup down and studies my face for a moment, her expression soft and thoughtful. “It’s healing nicely, you know,” she says gently. “The scar has calmed down a lot in the last few weeks. You’ve been taking such good care of it.”
I touch my cheek lightly, tracing the line with my fingertips. The wound is still slightly raised, but it doesn’t look as raw or horrifying as it did. The swelling has mostly gone down, and the colour has faded from an ugly red to a softer pink. It still pulls sometimes when I smile too wide or talk for too long, but it’s getting better every day.
“Soren helps me with it every single night,” I say quietly, a small smile tugging at my lips. “He makes sure I put the cream on, and he’s paranoid about the sun. He put factor 50 on it himself before I came out here today.”
Lorraine chuckles fondly. “That sounds like him. Protective to a fault.”
I nod, looking down at the table. The scar still makes me self-conscious sometimes, especially when new people see it, but Soren’s constant care has made it feel… less like a flaw and more like something we’re dealing with together.
I lean back in my chair, tilting my face up. The breeze feels nice against my skin.
Lorraine watches me for a moment, then smiles. “You look like you belong here now, Kit. Not just surviving… but actually living.”
I let out a soft breath and smile back at her, the one curl falling over my eye as I tilt my head. Maybe she’s right.
Just then, the steel basement door in the distance swings open. Ray steps out looking thoroughly dishevelled, shirt sleeves rolled up, hair messy, a smear ofsomething dark on his jaw. He’s swinging a familiar black karambit around his thumb like it’s a toy.
Lorraine laughs softly beside me. “Oh dear. Right, well… I don’t want to hear the gory details. I’ll be inside, darling.”
She stands, collecting our mugs and plates with a knowing smile, then heads back toward the house.
I watch Ray walk over, still casually spinning the blade. When he reaches me, I raise a curious brow, waiting.
“Would you like to do the honours?” he asks, holding out my karambit with a mock bow. “We’ve been trying for an hour and getting nowhere.”
I stand up and roll my eyes.
Ray scoffs. “Did you justrollyour eyes at me?”
“This polo is new,” I say, brushing a hand down the front, as we cross the gardens. “Would be a shame to ruin it.”
Ray grins. “Oh, that reminds me… yeah, Soren actually had something to give you. You must have been moaning about your clothesa lot.”
I shove his shoulder and laugh. “So what if I don’t want blood-stained clothes?Idiot.”
He nudges me back. “I think you’ll like it.”
Ray opens the heavy basement door for me. I step through, the cool underground air hitting me instantly.
This has kind of become my job over the past month. I don’t know exactly what clicked in me after I killed Finn and then finished Mitch with Soren… butsomethingdid. Ienjoyhurting these bad people far too much. There’s a part of me that feels a little psychotic for it, but who the fuck cares? I livehere. These people do worse things every single day. If anything, it just makes me fit in more.
The rest of the guys don’t think outside the box. They’ll stab someone in the leg, break fingers, or punch them repeatedly in the face… all that typical brute stuff. But I’ve got somethingdifferentin mind today.
Ray closes the door behind us with a heavy clang. We start walking down the stairs, and the long basement hallway toward the cell, our footsteps echoing off the concrete.
We reach cell six; the door is already open. Soren must’ve heard our footsteps because he steps out, holding something folded in his hands. The moment he looks up, his eyes lock onto that one deliberate curl I left hanging over my forehead. I can’t help but wink at him. Soren clenches his jaw, inhaling sharply like he’s physically restraining himself.
Then he unfolds what he’s holding, a crisp white lab coat, and holds it up for me. “I chose white for you, baby,” he says, voice dark. “Thought you’d like to see your chaos every time you put it on.”
A slow grin spreads across my face. I turn and slip my arms into the sleeves. The fabric is smooth and cool against my skin. Ray steps up and fastens the buttons for me, smirking.
“Oh yeah,” Ray says, stepping back to look at me. “Now you’re like a real psycho. Armen would love this.”
