Page 31

It was the sun that drew my focus. I moved to the window, pushing aside the curtain. The grounds stretched wide, ending in towering pines—but closer—color.

Pinks. Reds. White.

A garden.

Alive.

Calling.

Something in me shifted.

You don’t wander.

Heavy.

Fixed.

A wall⁠—

No.

Bars.

“Don’t wander my ass,” I huffed.

I didn’t look away this time. I glanced down at the flower in my hand. Small. Fragile. Still here. It didn’t belong inside. Neither did I.

I closed the book and tucked it against me. Turned. Moved. The hallway was quiet. Too quiet. No footsteps. No voice. No presence.

No one stopped me. No one called out. That should’ve mattered.

It didn’t.

I stepped into the foyer. The east wing pulled my attention again—dark. Still. Waiting.

My chest tightened. No fear. Something worse.

Hunger.

I turned away and kept moving. The house creaking around me, soft and distant, like it was listening.

I found the doors.

Stopped.

My hand hovered over the handle.

You don’t wander.

I knew I was breaking the rule. I didn’t stop. I pressed down.

The door gave.

Cold air slipped through the opening.

I stepped outside.

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