Page 51 of Hellebore

I run as fast as my legs will carry me, boots slapping against wet pavement, fog swallowing me whole. My heart thunders in my ears. Tears blur my vision. Every shadow feels like it’s reaching for me, but I don’t stop.

Not until I’m far away from that alley.

Not until the only thing I can hear is the sound of my own ragged breathing and the distant, fading screams of violence behind me.

I run up the stairs, hands shaking so badly I can barely get the key into the lock. The second I’m inside I slam the door shut and turn the alarm on with trembling fingers. I sprint to the kitchen, grab the biggest knife I own, and clutch it against my chest as I back into the living room.

I stand there in the dark, breathing hard, staring at the door. Minutes crawl by. My heart is hammering so violently I feel sick. I reach for my phone, it’s gone. I must have dropped it in the alley when Tom shoved me.

Shit. I can’t call the cops, but I can scream. Loud enough to wake the entire building if I have to.

I keep staring at the clock. The longer nothing happens, the more I start to breathe again. Maybe he didn’t follow me. Maybe I actually got away⁠—

A soft click breaks the silence.

The lock turns.

The door opens.

A massive figure steps inside calmly, like he’s done this a hundred times before. Black hoodie pulled low. Black mask covering the lower half of his face. Forest-green eyes glinting in the dim light.

He looks at me. Then at the knife I’m pressing against my own stomach.

He turns to the alarm panel and enters the code. The beeping stops.

My mouth falls open.

How the hell does he know the code Lucille chose? How does he have a key?

He closes the door behind him with a quiet finality and walks toward me, slow and deliberate, like a predator who already knows he’s won.

“Are you going to use that?” His voice is low, deep, almost gentle as he nods at the knife.

I nod frantically, tears burning my eyes.

“Okay then.” He pulls his hoodie down. Messy black hair falls over his eyes, still damp from the night air. “I told you to leave the bar, Briar. I almost didn’t make it in time.”

Is that… disappointment in his voice?

I don’t speak. I just stare at him, knife shaking against my stomach.

“Briar,” he says, stepping closer, eyes locked on mine. “Why is someone after you?”

“I don’t kn⁠—”

“Don’t fucking lie to me.” His voice drops into something darker, more dangerous. He moves fast, grabbing my wrist and squeezing until I drop the knife with a clatter. “I saw your emails with Lucille. I heard you talking to her. So don’t lie to me.”

“You read my private stuff?” Tears spill down my cheeks. The violation burns worse than the fear.

“Briar,” he says, almost softly, “I put cameras in every corner of your house. In the bakery. In your car. You really think I would stop at emails?”

I shake my head, barely able to breathe.

“That guy has been following you for days,” he continues, voice low and lethal. “He was parked outside your building two nights ago. Someone sent him.”

I feel the floor tilt beneath me.

He steps back, jaw tight. “You can’t stay here.”