Page 252 of Bound By Crimson

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Grayson.

She hadn’t heard his voice in what felt like forever.

Does he wonder if I changed my mind? If I made it out? If I’m still alive?

She hadn’t even seen his face—just a voice through stone.

And yet she trusted him more than anyone.

Is that stupid? Or the smartest thing I’ve ever done?

She curled up on a pile of old clothes near the window.

Sleep came in fragments.

But it came.

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The morning light hit her face gently.

She blinked against it, groggy but alert.

Today.

It was today.

She sat up slowly, stretching out her sore limbs. Her neck ached. Her back, too.

But there was something new in her.

Focus.

She spent the morning searching.

The attic had more than secrets. It had supplies.

She found an old satchel under a cedar chest and dusted it off.

Then she searched every drawer, every box.

Trinkets. Designer scarves and silver hairpins.

Things that looked expensive. Lightweight. Sellable.

She packed them carefully.

A folded blanket.

A pair of boots.

One extra bottle of water from the night before.

Then, at the bottom of one of the drawers, buried beneath old linens, something caught her eye—a velvet-lined box, still latched. Inside, more necklaces—some tangled, some broken, some gleaming like they hadn’t been touched in years. She added them to the bag without hesitation.

Something fell from under the tangle of necklaces.

A folded note.

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