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"That's the last thing I fully remember about that day. The rest is just fragments," I whispered. Cold sweat dotted my face and my heartbeat echoed in my ears as I fought to get the rest out before the anxiety took over. "He got me on the floor, and he was yelling, but I don't remember what he said. I remember him hitting me. Then he w-was ripping at my clothes. Then there was just the pain when he⁠—"

I choked, shuddering violently as the meager breakfast I'd choked down threatened to make a reappearance.

"It's alright. You're safe."

Will's voice sounded far away, like it was echoing down a vast, dark tunnel. There was a flurry of motion, then he was kneeling beside me. He didn't touch me, though. If he had, I'm pretty sure I would have fallen apart.

"Take a breath. You don't have to talk about it anymore," he promised, low and soothing. "You survived, and you're safe now."

My water bottle appeared in my periphery, and I took it with shaking hands. I nearly spilled it the first time I tried to take a drink, and the water hitting my roiling stomach left me feeling queasy, but the pain in my throat eased, and the pause helped me gather my thoughts.

"I have enough to go on for now, if you want to stop," Will offered once my breathing settled.

It was tempting. Part of me had hoped that finally talking about that night would be like some kind of mental exorcism, purging the memories of the power they'd held over me for the last five years. Instead, I'd simply sliced open the wounds and left myself bleeding all over the floor of Will's office.

I'd come this far, though. I was past the worst of the story, so maybe the rest would be easier.

"I want to finish," I whispered hoarsely, clutching the water bottle in my hands. "I've held it in long enough."

Will looked about as confident as I felt, which was not at all, but he nodded and retreated to his chair, giving me space to breathe. I skirted the edges of my memories, trying to pick up the thread of my story without devolving into a shaking mess.

"Lain saved my life," I finally said. I still couldn't look at him as I spoke, but now I focused on the bottle in my hands instead of the wall. "I thought I'd be safe, but just in case, I asked Lain to call me if he didn't hear from me within an hour. When I didn't answer, he called the police. I don't remember that, but I know I woke up in the hospital."

Typhon had wondered why I trusted Lain so much. Maybe he thought I was exaggerating when I said Lain had saved me. He'd been there while I recovered, spending his days making sure the salon stayed afloat and his nights in my hospital room, making sure I stayed afloat. My dad and stepmom had written me off the day I turned 18, and the siblings who hadn't followed our parents' example had long since left town, so Lain was the only one who ever came by. Until I met Typhon, I'd never trusted anyone in my life the way I trusted Lain Harris.

"That should have prompted a police investigation." Will frowned, then he sighed and closed his eyes. "But Cuthbert and Rankin would have been the ones to show up…"

"When they came to my hospital room, I didn't even try to press charges," I admitted, shame curling deep in my chest. I'd hated myself for it even as I said it, but with my body covered in bruises and the throbbing pain of Aaron’s assault cutting through the painkillers in my IV, I couldn’t bear the idea of reliving it to two men who clearly thought I deserved it.

I knew Lain was furious, but he hid it well and let it drop after the fourth time I refused to change my mind. I did let him take pictures of the bruises and marks Aaron had left on me as a concession. They'd been sitting in a locked album on my phone since that night. I can't count how many times I nearly deleted them.

After my release, I spent every spare second I had turning my home into a fortress. I replaced the standard wooden exterior doors with steel ones. I spent a weekend removing all the interior doors after a nightmare in which I came home and he was lurking behind my bedroom door waiting for me. Three outdoor security cameras became eight. Each room had a small nanny cam-style camera somewhere in it, so if my anxiety got too bad, I could look at every corner of my house from the safety of my car before I went inside.

For five years, I've lived a life of fear, paranoia, and anxiety. I kept lying to myself and pretending I was okay, but I was still letting Aaron rule my life.

"I'm so sorry for the way they treated you, Quinn. I swear to you it'll be different now," Will vowed, resolve burning in his eyes when I finally brought myself to look at him. Alongside that resolve was a deep anger, presumably at the detectives of five years ago, and not a trace of pity. Sympathy, yes, but not the pity I feared I'd see there.

"Thank you. I'm tired of letting him influence my life. I just want to finally move on."

"I'll do everything in my power to help. I'm going to get this written up and urge the chief to sign off on having him arrested."

The rest of the conversation was a blur as my adrenaline dropped, leaving me sluggish and in a fog. I'm pretty sure I signed paperwork to get a restraining order, just as an added precaution, but now that the hardest part was over, all I wanted to do was go home and sleep for a month.

Will offered to escort me home, but I just shook my head. I liked and trusted him, but after everything I'd told him, I needed a little space to recuperate.

My rental car was parked behind the salon where I'd left it, and I drove home on autopilot. My old car was a total loss, but the insurance company was dragging their feet, so I was stuck with a rental until they cleared the cost of replacing it.

The cottage appeared around the last bend in the road, nestled between the trees. Until I began the hunt for a place to call my own, right after I left Aaron for good, I hadn't even known it existed. The instant I saw it, something deep in my soul settled, as if I'd finally found home. I'd still been living in my salon at that point, something I hid from clients. It was hard enough to explain away the bruises, but no one asked. They didn't need to, when it was obvious what had happened. Even the nosiest gossips looked away, pretending not to stare.

The realtor I met, a lovely older man named Armand Heera, was the only exception. He was the first to ask me if I was okay and worked tirelessly to help me when I told him I wasn't, and I needed somewhere to go. He worked with the sellers, a couple who lived out of state and had been renting the place out as a guesthouse for travelers. Lowery's Crossing wasn't exactly a travel hub, though, and the money wasn't worth the upkeep, so they just wanted to get it off their hands.

With Mr. Heera's help and the sellers' concessions, we made it work in record time. The place came furnished and had decent built-in security, but I used every bit of money left in that account to add the cameras, alarms, and lighting.

This place had been my haven since the day I moved in, but it'd always been missing something. I never could figure out what it was, but now, pulling in to see Typhon and Romulus stepping out to greet me, I finally knew what it was.

The house had been my home, but it was also a fortress. The coziness inside was only surface-level. Coming home brought relief, but never the bubbling happiness I felt when I saw the two of them waiting for me, Typhon with a bright smile and Rom with a wagging tail. The dark, creeping lethargy that had been pulling at me since I left the police department lost its grip, and for the first time in years, something light and warm welled up within me.

My life was a mess, and I was still grappling with the fact that magic and monsters were real and living all around me. In truth, though, I'd always known that monsters were real, and I was finally taking steps to free myself of the one who'd broken my spirit.