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Dylan’s eyes flicked once more to where Tristan Fairfax had been standing, then down at the medicines all over the floor.

“What are all these bottles doing on the floor?” Dylan stepped closer, cautiously avoiding the broken glass and keeping his voice soft and low.

I stared at him, my mind blank.

What can I say? He’ll never believe me.

He ran his hand through his hair, very much like… like Tristan, the strange boy. I shook the thought off immediately as Dylan surveyed the damage: the scattered bottles, the splintered fragments of glass. His eyes rested on the tumbler beside the sink that I used for water earlier, and his expression changed from consternation to sudden realization to panic.

“Jesus, Emily—please tell me you didn’t take any of these tablets.”

He moved quickly so he was in front of me, and a smattering of hair that showed in the vee of his T-shirt was in my eyeline.

He grabbed my upper arms and shook me. “Emily. Did you take any of the tablets?” His eyes were icy blue and piercing. He shook me again, more roughly this time. “Answer me, damn it, Emily. Did you take any tablets?” he shouted as I recoiled from his hostility.

“No,” I whispered.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“But you were thinking about it?” His gaze blistered through me.

I flushed and looked anxiously down at my fingers, unable to meet his eyes.

He dropped his hands and stepped back, his face darkening. I heard his sharp intake of breath, and when I summoned the courage to look at him, he’d closed his eyes and taken a further step back. A frisson of fear skittered up my spine at his dark expression.

“I think you should go back to your room. Now.” His tone was so soft, I barely heard him, but there was no disguising the lead-lined fury in his voice. “I don’t think I have ever felt as angry as I do now. Please go, before I do something I’ll regret.”

I took a sudden breath at his threat, and it spurred me out of the kitchen. I raced upstairs and along the corridor to my new bedroom, hurling myself onto my new bed. Curling up into a small ball, I tried to process what had happened.

What have I done?

Angry Dylan.

Angry Delusion.

What the hell?

I screwed my eyes up tight, trying to block out everything. The white noise swelled in my head as irrational thought after irrational thought hurtled through my mind.

What the hell is happening?

Tears sprang to my eyes. The only logical explanation was that I was out of my mind with grief. Opening my eyes briefly, I hoped to see a watery vision of my parents, but their photograph was in the other room.

No. No. Mummy. Daddy… Billy.

I wept into my pillow.

How can I stay here?

I’m an inconvenience.

I should be with them.

Dylan was angry with me. I’d seen him like this once before, and that was yesterday, over the champagne. It was obvious I was making his life a misery.

I should be with them.