I stare up at the moon outside, casting its silver glow over the surroundings and transforming it into a world I wish I could enter.
Yet, I’m too fucking terrified. So pathetic for not daring to venture outside. It feels safe in this motel room, though I know I can’t stay cooped up in here forever.
As if noticing my prolonged silence, I sense the sheets shifting from the bed a few seconds before I feel Grey coming up to me. I look at him, and a frown creases his brows, noticing my exhausted expression—how the dark circles cling to my eyes as if they belong there, the light in my eyes slightly dimmed.
His ruffled hair gives him an appealing appearance, tempting me to run my hands through it. He’s shirtless, his abs on full display—every inch of his toned muscles pulling me in, offering a fleeting escape from the harshness of reality. With every bit of the muscles I want to drown in, I find myself captured by just to forget the horrible reality.
”What’s wrong?” he asks, nuzzling his head into my neck.
”Can we go outside? I don’t want to go alone,” I murmur, ashamed to admit my vulnerability.
I feel hopeless, but most of all, I feel like a failure. I’m letting Emilio Ricci and Arthur win over me with the way they hold my life in their hands still, making me fear things that other people would not.
“Of course.”
I can tell he wants to press me for an answer, but he lets it go. I grab my cap to pull it low over my face before grabbing a hoodie from the backpack Daxton gave us. Grey grabs my hand, firm yet reassuring, as we step out of the small motel room Daxton rented under fake names. The fresh air of early summer wafts through me, and I savor the fleeting sense of safety it brings.
Grey’s eyes are a heavy weight on me, and I know he wants to say something, but I cannot bring myself to talk. Instead, I close my eyes, letting the chill graze my cheeks and tousle my hair.
At least we’re alive. That counts for something, right? We have each other, which is more than I can say for all the others back at the dollhouse who didn’t deserve the fate we forced upon them.
”I hate this silence,” Grey pleads, voice soft yet with an undertone of coldness.
“Please. I can’t right now,” I murmur, letting go of his hand.
All emotions come washing over me, the strongest being the feeling of wanting to die at the dollhouse, and the relief of finally finding the reprieve of death.
I should have died that day. Instead, I’m here.
As I step away from Grey, I hear his sharp intake of breath before lowering myself onto the gravel ground. The jagged stones dig into my bare legs, a familiar discomfort I almost welcome, like an old, uninvited friend.
I shift my focus away from him—the beautifully broken soulthat saved me when I needed him the most, the only solid thing in a world that is falling apart—but I need to breathe without feeling as ifI’mthe one falling apart.
Because I am.
I’m teetering on the edge of a deadly cliff of which there’s no return. Once you’ve plunged to the depths of hell, there is no resurrection.
In a moment of haste, a shadow catches my attention, causing my heart rate to rise like a thunderous clap, only making it harder to breathe. Like a snake, the shadow moves behind the tree, covered by the thick trunks, and it wouldn’t have been visible had it not been for the glowing moonlight.
The breath whooshes out of me, sweat beading on my forehead, and I clench my fists until my nails press crescents into my palms.
“Grey?” I whisper, but it’s as if he’s in another world, inhaling the poison from the cigarette.
Emerging from the shadows is a silhouette of a tall man hiding among the trees, taking a step closer.
It’s probably just another guest at the motel.
Even as I think that, I know it’s not true.
For the briefest of seconds, as the pale light spills across the path where he stands, I see a face with brutally cold eyes and a nose with a distinctive hook I will never forget.
Salt-and-pepper hair amplifies the chills spreading down my spine, and when my gaze falls on the tailored suit, I instantly know who it is. The light dims as clouds swallow it, and my voice vanishes.
Standing up too quickly, the surroundings swirl around me as my head takes a moment to steady itself. Then a wave of unease washes over me, tightening my throat.
I saw him. I saw Emilio Ricci. Again.
“Grey,” I manage once again, and he meets my eyes with apuzzled expression. “He’s here.” My voice is barely a whisper in the suddenly too-cold atmosphere.
