Page 210 of Bound By Crimson
To footsteps. To plumbing.
To Noah.
She mapped the patterns in her head.
Tessa walked light.
Bernarda walked fast.
The butler’s shoes clicked on the wood.
Mrs. Thornwick never made a sound.
---
On the seventh night, she made her move.
She stood slowly. One hand on the nightstand for balance.
Her legs held.
The hallway creaked once—but no one stirred.
She floated, barefoot, across the hallway.
Careful. Soundless.
Past the staircase.
Toward the east wing.
Toward the nursery.
She opened the door like it might shatter in her hands.
Noah was in the crib, curled beneath a pale blue blanket.
There was a soft mobile above him, turning slightly in the breeze from the vent.
He was bigger than she expected.
Still small but no longer brand new.
Her eyes blurred.
She stepped closer.
His hand twitched.
His little mouth opened in sleep.
He’s real. He’s still mine.
Lyric reached down and lifted him carefully.
Her arms ached—not from heaviness, but from the weight of longing finally come to rest.
He didn’t cry.
