Page 184 of His Reckoning

I wake up to the sounds of him screaming, sweat soaking the sheets. He’s yelling, thrashing, panicking.

I stop. The scene hits too close.

My hand tightens around the book.

A slow, cold realization settles into my chest.

No. I shake my head slightly. That’s not possible.

She wouldn’t.

I flip to another section.

Read a paragraph, then another. My stomach drops. Now I’m not seeing inspiration. I’m seeing patterns.

Things she only knows because I let her see them. A hollow feeling settles in my chest.

I lean back against the couch slowly.

The book still open in my hands. The apartment feels different now.

I stare down at the page.

At the version of a man that feels just close enough to be recognizable … and just distant enough to be deniable.

My jaw tightens.

One thought pushes through everything else.

Is that all this was?

I glance toward the island. Toward her laptop and her notes.

All the nights she stayed up writing. All the moments I thought she was simply seeing me.

A bitter laugh escapes under my breath.

Of course. That’s what she does.

She writes, she observes, and she turns people into stories.

Suddenly, every moment from the last month feels different.

Rewritten. Like I was just … material.

I don’t realize how long I’ve been sitting here until I hear the front door open. The sound cuts through the silence of the apartment.

Keys hitting the counter.

Kayla’s voice, light and easy. “I’m home?—”

She stops when she sees me still on the couch with the book open in my hands.

For a second, confusion flickers across her face.

Then it shifts. Recognition. Her eyes drop to the cover.

“Oh. You found them.”