“What game would that be, huh?” I crossed my arms, already bracing.
“Memory Lane,” he replied, sipping slowly from his glass. “You know, so I can really get to know mylittlestep-sister.”
I hesitated, then lowered myself onto the couch. “Alright. How do you play?”
He leaned forward. “Simple. I name a memory, say, first kiss, and you tell the story. Or maybe your first time…” His eyes narrowed, watching me too closely.
I bit down on my lip, a lump rising in my throat. “I haven’t... I never kissed anyone.”
His laugh was loud, disbelieving. “You’re joking, right?”
“No.” I stood abruptly. “I don’t.”
“Sit down,” he said, gripping my wrist and tugging me back.
I shook him off. “What’s the point of your game if I’ve never done the things you want to hear about?”
“Fine,” he said, voice dropping. “Then let’s just talk.”
I sighed, eyeing his drink. “Can I have a glass?”
He moved it out of reach, meeting my eyes. “You’re sixteen.”
I rolled my eyes. “Whatever.”
“So,” he began, slowly now, “what are you most afraid of?”
I blinked. That wasn’t a casual question. Not a get-to-know-you question. The way he asked it… It was like he already knew the answer.
“I don’t know,” I muttered.
I lied.
He leaned in, his voice a murmur. “I think you do. You just don’t want to say it. Saying it makes it real.”
His stare pinned me, too long, too intense.
“I’m not scared of anything,” I said again, but softer. Less sure.
His smile was slow, almost pitying. “Not even me?”
Silence dropped. The fire popped. Outside, the wind stirred. Inside, the air tightened.
“I’m afraid of my dad,” I blurted.
He didn’t flinch.
“Did he…” Dorian’s voice faltered, then steadied. “Did he do something to you?”
I pulled back my sleeve. Showed him the burn scar on my wrist. I was twelve.
His jaw clenched as his eyes scanned me, searching for more. But he didn’t say a word. Instead, he reached out, fingers brushing against mine, holding onto me.
“You don’t have to be scared anymore,” he said. His hand stayed on mine, grounding me. He leaned closer and pusheda loose strand of hair behind my ear. And then I could hear acreak.
A door opened somewhere down the hall. A gust of cold air slid from the basement, brushing over us like a cold breath.
“Did you hear that?” I whispered, backing away.
