Page 56 of No Longer Mine

The place that nearly broke me.

I exhaled, my breath curling into the air in front of me like smoke, and forced myself forward. The long driveway stretched on forever, the weeds and wild grass reclaiming the land around it.

By the time I made it to the rusted iron gate, my breath was coming out a little faster than usual. I wasn’t winded, but Idefinitely hadn’t worn the right shoes to walk down this never-ending drive. I always forgot how long it was. I was surprised the iron gate was still standing. It creaked as I slipped through, and I shivered against the chill. Maybe it hadn’t been such a good idea to come out here all alone.

The house was even worse than the last time I visited—neglected, crumbling in some places, the windows shattered in others.

This place had been full of talent once. Of children who could paint, compose, build, think beyond their years. Children who had been tossed aside, forgotten, unless they were of use to the right people.

I wasn’t sure which category I’d fallen into. I curled my hands into fists and took a deep breath. My feet stopped just before the front steps. There was a massive hole in one of them with weeds growing through it.

My chest ached with something unnameable as I stared up at the massive front doors, the ones that once seemed so grand to me as a child.

I swallowed hard and stepped up onto the porch. The wood groaned under my weight, unstable and fragile, much like I had been all those years ago. My fingers traced over the worn doorframe as memories flooded my mind.

Oliver, a scrawny kid with too-big glasses, was always hacking into something he shouldn’t have been.

Cleo, wild and fearless, pushing me to take bigger risks, to believe in myself.

Vivi, whispering secrets under the covers late at night, dreaming of something more.

And then there was me. The girl who watched and learned. The girl who found her talent in taking.

I scrubbed my hands down my face. What was I doing here? Why did I like to torment myself so? Why did I need this reminder of where I came from?

It was dangerous to be out here. It was dangerous to trust that I hadn’t been followed. It was dangerous to think that no one would uncover my secrets if they figured out this place was still standing.

No matter how many times I came out here, no matter how many times I planned to burn it to the ground, I never could.

My fingers tightened around the doorknob, and a cloud of dust exploded around me as I shoved the door open.

The hinges groaned in protest, the sound echoing through the hollow remains of Vanewood Manor. The stale scent of rotting wood and forgotten lives hit me like a slap, thick with dust and decay. The past lived here, tangled in every creaking floorboard, in the peeling wallpaper that once held the dreams of the discarded.

I stepped inside.

My boots left fresh imprints in the dust, disturbing the untouched surface. No one had been here. No squatters, no scavengers—just ghosts. I exhaled, watching the dust swirl in the dim light filtering through the broken windows. I closed my eyes and immediately memories flooded my head.

“He touched you?” Oliver’s eyes rounded behind his glasses. “You have to tell someone!”

It didn’t matter. The headmaster started it. He certainly wasn’t going to stop it. Tears filled my eyes, but they didn’t fall.

“I’m serious, Red. You need to tell someone.” Oliver gripped the top of my arm as I turned away from him. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered anymore. I was worthless now. No one would ever want me. Bile rose up in my throat, which I fought to keep down.

Cleo watched from the other side of the commons area. Her lips turned down as she realized what was happening. Cleo was the only one who knew what was happening with the headmaster and Jameson—his son. The only reason Oliver knew was because he followed us when he saw James pull me into the stairwell.

Cleo marched across the rug and wrapped her arms around me. “It doesn’t have to be this way.”

I pulled out of her grasp. We were at the mercy of the headmaster. We couldn’t do anything about it. We were trapped. We were children. What could we do?

“I have a plan.”

A shudder ran down my spine as I forced myself back into the present. My fingers curled into fists, nails biting into my palms. The air in Vanewood felt suffocating now, thick with dust and history.

I had come here for clarity. For a reminder of why I did what I did. Instead, I had dredged up ghosts that should have stayed buried.

I let out a slow, measured breath and opened my eyes. I kicked a rock across the floor, and it hit the wall with a thud. I shouldn’t have come here, but it was too late now.

Carefully, I walked up the once grand staircase to the second story. The big oak doors were falling in on themselves, but I could still somewhat tell what each of the rooms had once been.

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