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Finally, she’s mine once more, and I won’t let the world, or anyone in it, take her from me again.

The words blur. For a moment I think my eyes are just tired from too many hours of reading and the sunlight fading from the windows, but then the meaning slams into me all at once. My fingers go numb. The journal slips from my hands, hitting the floor with a dull thud. I stare at it there on the rug like it’s something alive, something dangerous that might spring back open and swallow me whole.

My stepfather’s death. The accident at work. The one everyone talked about in hushed voices at the funeral. The one people shook their heads over and called tragic and unfortunate.

Ash did it.

The thought lands in my mind like a stone dropped into deep water, its ripples spreading outward to touch every memory I have. My breath comes too fast. It can’t be. He couldn’t have … But I saw the words. I read them. His words. He didn’t describe how, but he didn’t have to; the certainty in his writing is unmistakable.

‘Oh my God,’ I whisper, the words barely making it out of my throat.

I push up from the couch so quickly the room tilts. The apartment suddenly feels smaller, and the air too thick to breathe.

Ash killed him.

My mind scrambles to catch up as pieces of the story rearrange themselves in ways that make my stomach twist. Every page I read drips with devotion and obsession, with that fierce certainty that nothing could threaten what was his.

What was his.

Me.

I press my hand to my mouth as another thought slides in, quiet and poisonous. If he did that – if he was truly capable – then what about Isla? The breath leaves my lungs in a sharp gasp.

‘No,’ I murmur, shaking my head, as though I can physically throw away the idea. ‘No, no, no …’

But the thought is already in my mind, planted deep and spreading its roots. Her death, the suicide. Was it suicide? I mean … of course I didn’t question it at the time. I saw her buying the pills. I knew how unhappy she was, and how volatile things had become in the house. It all seemed to line up so neatly back then. The world handed us a tragic explanation and we accepted it, but it was so sudden, and the more I think about it now, the more I feel like something is wrong.

My sister was dramatic, yes. She loved attention, and loved being the loudest person in the room, the one everyone noticed. She thrived on getting a reaction. Good or bad, it didn’t matter, as long as people were looking at her. But even at her worst, death never seemed like something she would choose. She liked the spectacle too much. She was too full of life, chaos, and the need to be seen. Taking a handful of pills alone in her room, slipping quietly out of the world without an audience, without a fight, without even a goodbye, doesn’t seem like her.

He claims everything she told me was false, that she was the one who came between us all along. A cold shiver crawls up my spine. I can’t stop the question, ugly and terrifying, forming in the back of my mind. If Ash could do that to Grant, if he could watch someone, decide they were a threat, and calmly remove them from the world, then what else is he capable of?

My stomach twists so violently I feel bile rise up my throat. My thoughts spiral faster, racing through every memory of him, every moment from the past month. I think of the warmth in this apartment. The way he looks at me like I’m the centre of his universe. The intensity in his voice when he says my name.

The love.

The possession.

The terrifying certainty.

‘Oh God,’ I breathe.

I need to get out.

I fumble for my phone on the coffee table, nearly knocking over my mug in the process. My hands shake so badly I almost drop the phone. The screen blurs as I scroll to my mum’s name and hit call.

‘Bryn?’ she answers, surprise lacing her voice. ‘Everything okay?’

‘Hey, Mum,’ I say, trying and failing to keep my voice steady. ‘I know I said I’d come down this weekend, but I think I’m going to come sooner,’ I rush out. ‘Like … today. Is that okay?’

‘Today?’ she asks gently. ‘Is everything all right, love?’

My eyes flick toward the journal on the floor. Ash’s words stare back at me from the open page.

‘I just miss you.’ That part isn’t a lie.

‘Oh,’ she says softly. ‘Well, of course you can come. You never have to ask.’

Relief crashes through me so suddenly I feel my knees weaken.