Page 84 of Freedom’s Inferno

The ground dropped out from under me. I pressed a hand to the side of the car to steady myself, the metal slick beneath my palm. The coffee cup tipped over beside me, dark liquid spreading across the hood, seeping down to the asphalt.

I didn’t think; I moved. My heart beat furiously as I tore back across the lot toward Haven House.

Gloria stood behind the reception desk when I burst through the front door, sorting papers. She startled, one hand flying to her chest.

“Charles? What on earth? Are you all right?”

My lungs ceased to work. “Do you‒ do you have security cameras out front?”

Her brows drew together. “Cameras? Yes, we do, but‒”

“I need to see them.” My voice came out hoarse, almost breaking. “Please. Just the last ten minutes.”

“Mr. Sterling, slow down. What’s wrong?”

“Please.” It came out more pathetic than I intended. “Please, Gloria. I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.”

She hesitated, eyes flicking between my face and the door. Something in my expression must have convinced her, because after a long pause, she nodded. “All right. Come with me.”

She led me through a narrow hallway into a small office. The monitor on the desk was grainy, the kind of security feed that caught more static than detail. She clicked a few keys, the image jumping back in time by minutes.

“There,” she said. “That’s right before you came in.”

I leaned over her shoulder, my pulse thundering in my ears.

The screen showed the front steps of Haven House through a thin veil of fog. Lana appeared, recognizable even through the poor resolution, crossing the street. Her coat moved like liquid shadow as she headed toward the small storefront across the way.

The clock shop.

A chill ripped straight through me—Whitmore’s Clockworks. Holy shit.

Lana disappeared inside, and Gloria clicked the playback forward. A minute later, Lana reemerged, standing on the curb, looking both ways. A black SUV rolled into view, smooth and silent, pulling up right in front of her. It stopped, blocking her from sight. The seconds stretched. When it finally pulled away, the street was empty. The curb where she’d been standing was bare.

“No,” I said. My throat burned. “No, no, no, no…”

I grabbed the edge of the desk to steady myself, but the room tilted, narrowing. The screen blurred as heat pricked behind my eyes.

Gloria turned in her chair, alarmed. “Charles, what‒ What happened? What’s wrong?”

I shook my head, unable to stop reliving the moment the SUV pulled away. The images replayed behind my eyelids, burned there.

“I need her,” I said. My voice cracked, the words spilling out raw and uncontrollable. “I need her. I‒” My mouth worked before my mind caught up. “I love her.” The words hit me like a blow. I hadn’t known they were coming until they were out, and once they were, I couldn’t take them back.

Gloria blinked, confused, startled by the force of it. “Charles, what‒?”

I turned away, dragging a hand down my face, trying to get my breathing under control. The weight of the word love echoed in my chest, unbearable and undeniable.

I was exposed in a way I’d spent my whole life avoiding. I’d built my life around escape routes, around never needing anyone badly enough to be destroyed by their absence. And this couldn’t be undone. No careful backing away. Loving her meant she had a claim on me I couldn’t argue my way out of or outrun. What frightened me most was knowing the cost and accepting it without hesitation.

Hand to God, I loved her.

Fuck. Fuck!

“I’m sorry,” I said, the apology half a whisper. “I‒ We had a fight. She probably… she probably called a friend to pick her up. I just‒ overreacted.”

Gloria frowned, unconvinced but gentle. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

I nodded too quickly. “Yeah. Yeah, I just need to go.”