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Reese lets out a small exhale through his nose. Pity mixed with disbelief.
“If you’re wrong—”
“I know.”
The words scrape my throat.
Zaiya stands at the edge of the same ruin in my mind, looking at me the way my mother looked at my father, cornered by love and power until there was nowhere left to stand.
I turn away before the image can root itself any deeper.
He says my name once, but I keep walking.
The house stretches ahead of me, dim and endless. What I’ve chosen for Zaiya is no mystery to me. Neither is what it could cost her. And nothing in this house—Reese, the Order, the memory of my mother floating somewhere above this cursed family line—will stop me from tearing this world apart to keep her.
CHAPTER 18
ZAIYA
Istand at the window with my fingers resting against the screen, staring out at the yard as if it might offer me some kind of answer.
The humidity is thick today, but not unbearable. Heat builds in the afternoon sun while the familiar hum of cicadas hits its peak. The world outside keeps moving, indifferent to my private turmoil.
I used to ache for freedom. To leave my house, my city, my entire life, and disappear into a crowd large enough to become no one.
Now this bedroom feels more secure than anywhere else.
Leaving it means risking another encounter with Edwin. Worse, it means risking the humiliating way my body responds whenever I think of him.
“Zaiya?” Evelyn appears in the doorway with a hand on the frame, her expression soft with concern. “Are you alright?”
I force myself to smile. “Yes. Just a bit tired today.”
I am tired. Tired of listening for footsteps and feeling like something terrible is about to happen. Tired of wanting what scares me.
“Come keep me company.” She reaches her hand out to me.
I hesitate before taking it. Her touch is warm and reassuring, making everything okay again. She leads me into her room and sits me in front of her antique vanity.
The surface is crowded with glass bottles and jars, all arranged with care. She tends to beauty the way another woman tends a garden.
“When Calista was little, she used to let me make her up all pretty,” Evelyn says as she searches through her nail polishes. “Now she’s always running off somewhere. Soon she’ll be back at school.”
“Doesn’t she come home to visit?”
Her mouth softens. “She wants the world these days, not her mother. And I miss that youthful essence.”
She lifts a bottle of deep red polish towards the light, admiring the color.
“This would look perfect on you. May I?”
My smile comes easily this time. “Yes, please.”
She begins brushing it over my nails with practiced precision. I watch her reflection in the mirror. There’s a certain gracefulness to the way she moves through even small tasks. She doesn’t simply dress herself each morning. She creates herself.
“You know,” she says slowly, “I was never close to my mother.”
Her eyes flick up to meet mine in the mirror before continuing her work.
