Page 75 of Scornful

The lavender oil warms between my palms as I work it into Mrs. Henderson's shoulders.

She's been coming to me for two years now, always requesting the same Swedish massage, always falling asleep halfway through.

Today's no different—her breathing has already deepened, soft snores escaping as I work a knot near her shoulder blade.

My body moves through the familiar motions, but my mind keeps drifting to this morning.

Geirolf makes me happier than I’ve ever been, and I can’t stop thinking about this morning.

His hands on my skin in the shower, the way he looked at me like I was something precious, and even his promise to pick me up from work.

I still can't believe everyone knows now.

There’s no more hiding, no more sneaking around.

"Everything all right, dear?" Mrs. Henderson's voice startles me.

I realize I've stopped moving, hands resting on her back.

I lie right through my teeth, resuming the massage. "Sorry, just working out a particularly stubborn knot."

She hums contentedly and drifts off again.

Through the door, I can hear Mom and Fern chatting at the reception desk.

It's been a slow morning—just three clients between us. Not unusual for a Monday.

My phone vibrates on the side table.

I glance over—text from Geirolf:

Thinking about you. Stay safe, Princess.

Warmth spreads through my chest.

This man who would terrify a random stranger on the street, sends me sweet texts in the middle of the day.

Mrs. Henderson's hour is almost up and she’s back to snoring again when I hear Mom's phone ring.

The walls are thin enough that I catch her greeting. "Hey Gwen, what's?—"

Silence. Then: "What? When?"

The fear in her voice makes my hands still.

Mrs. Henderson stirs but doesn't wake.

"Are they—" Mom's voice cracks. "Okay. We're coming. Now."

I'm already moving toward the door when it opens.

Mom's face is pale, her usual composure cracked. "Astrid." Just my name, but the way she says it makes my stomach drop.

"What happened?"

She glances at Mrs. Henderson, still snoring away.. "There's been an explosion. At Kraken and Magnolia's house."

The words don't compute at first. Explosion. House. Kraken—one of Dad's closest brothers. Magnolia—who taught me how to French braid when I was twelve.

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