Page 106 of Safe Place

“Sophie?”

Nothing. I check the bedroom, the kitchen. Her keys aren't on the counter where she always leaves them. Her bag isn't here either.

Fuck.

I grab my phone. The screen lights up—three missed calls and a string of texts from Nico. I forgot to take it off silent after my exam.

My stomach drops before I even finish reading.

Nico

Keller’s location shows he’s at her apartment.

Micah, pick up the phone.

SOPHIE JUST WALKED INTO THE BUILDING.

MICAH, WHERE ARE YOU?

The air leaves my lungs.

I should have told her. I almost did—a dozen times. I told myself I was protecting her. Keeping her calm until I could handle it. I was going to protect her. I told myself a lot of things.

I sprint back to the elevator and pray to God I’m not too late.

SOPHIE

Today's the day I move in with Micah.

He insisted we’d go together after his exam—wait for me, I’ll finish my exam fast. I told him yes the way you tell someone yes when you've already decided no.

Because the honest answer is I don't have much to come back for. A few clothes, some books. Twenty minutes, maybe less. I can do it myself.

Most of my things have migrated to Micah's on their own. I realized I hadn't even driven back to my own place in over a week. There's something quietly devastating about how fast your life can pack itself up and move on without you noticing.

This is the last time I'll ever step foot in this shitty little apartment. Poppy already moved her stuff out this morning with Wyatt, and—of course—she forgot to lock the door. It’s cracked open an inch, barely noticeable unless you’re looking for it.

My stomach twists. Something’s wrong.

I push it open slowly. One step inside, and everything in me stills.

The air is filled with the stench of alcohol—sharp, sour, suffocating. The lights are on, but the place feels darker somehow. I don’t even have time to shut the door behind me before I hear it.

“I’ve been waiting for you.”

That voice. That fucking voice. My heart drops. My vision narrows.

Mark is sitting at the dining table like he owns the place. Legs spread, arms draped across the back of the chair, a bottle of vodka beside him. His green eyes are bloodshot—just like I remember them. He looks exactly the way he does in my nightmares—calm, smug, and ready to hurt me.

“Get out,” I say, forcing steel into my voice even as my hands start to tremble. “Before I call the police.”

He leans back, languid and deliberate, a venomous smirk curling his mouth. “Where’s the goldilocks boyfriend? Left you already?”

“He’s downstairs. I’m moving in with him,” I lie. My knees lock. My fists curl at my sides. I try to stay still, try not to show fear.

“Yeah, and he sent you up to get all these boxes yourself. But go on—I love it when you lie,” he says, his voice dipping into something darker, nastier. “Just like when you used to lie to your mom. Telling her nothing was going on between us. That drove me wild. You know that?”

He stands and starts walking toward me, casual like he’s just stretching his legs. I backpedal instinctively, breath caught in my throat, and bump into the wall behind me. My hand scrambles behind me to find the door, but I can’t find it fast enough.