Page 43

"I guess."

Emma makes a frustrated sound. "Okay. So, this sheriff. You're serious about him?"

"Yes."

"After three days."

"I know how it sounds."

"It sounds completely insane." But her voice is gentle. "Tell me about him. Who is he?"

I think about how to describe Kieran. How do I explain the way he looks at me like I matter? The steadiness of him, like he's a wall I can lean against without worrying it'll crumble?

"He's kind," I say finally. "Like genuinely kind, not just polite. And he makes me feel safe in a way I haven't felt in months. Maybe years."

"You're in love with him."

"Yeah. I am."

Emma's quiet for a long moment. "Does he feel the same way?"

"I think so. Maybe. I don't know, we haven't really talked about it."

"But you feel it."

"Yeah."

"Okay." She sighs. "Look, I want to tell you to slow down. Make sure you're not just latching onto him because he makes you feel safe. But Lyla, you sound different."

"Different how?"

"Like you. The real you. Not the version you became with Trevor." I can hear her shifting, probably curling up in that armchair by her window. "So I'm going to trust your judgment. But please, please be careful. Just take your time with this. Make sure it's real."

"What if it is real?"

"Then I'm happy for you. And I want to meet him immediately so I can do the scary sister routine."

That makes me laugh. "Deal."

We talk for another ten minutes about normal things. Her job. The guy she's been seeing who might be turning into something real. Her landlord who's threatening to raise the rent again. Sister stuff that grounds me, reminds me there's a world beyond Trevor and fear and waiting.

"Call me after you hear about the arraignment," she says before we hang up. "I want to know you're really safe."

"I will. Love you."

"Love you too."

After we hang up I try the logo again. And somehow, without Trevor's shadow hanging over me quite so heavily, things start to click. I scrap the version I've been forcing and start fresh. Cleaner lines. Bolder colors. Something with actual confidence instead of just competence.

By ten-thirty I have something I actually like. I send it to the client with a note about revisions and close my laptop feeling accomplished for the first time in days.

Then I realize I have nothing to do but wait.

The cottage feels too small suddenly. Too quiet. Too isolated. I walk from room to room, checking locks I've already checked, peering out windows at the empty driveway.

Trevor found this place too easily. Showed up at the door. Stood right there on the porch where Kieran stood the night we met. This was supposed to be my safe place and Trevor contaminated it in under five minutes.

I can't stay here.