Page 56 of Jayson
Like let her in.
And I don’t know which of us that would ruin more—her, with her broken pieces barely glued together, or me, with mine buried so deep I don’t even feel the cracks anymore.
I walk out before I can find out. Because I’ve seen what happens to the things I care about. And I know with everything in me that I won’t survive another loss.
24
KEIRA
Nina insists we take breakfast in the dining room, even though it’s only the two of us and we could have just as easily eaten in the kitchen.
Even with the soft clink of porcelain and the delicate scrape of a butter knife against toast, the silence wraps around me like gauze—light, but suffocating all the same.
I sit across from Nina at the long mahogany table, trying not to let the size of the room swallow me whole. The chandelier overhead sparkles in the morning sun, throwing fractured light across the wood. Everything here is elegant. Grand. Intimidating in its refinement. What some would consider old, what others would call vintage.
I take a small sip of tea, letting the warmth soothe the hollow spot in my chest, the place where fear and confusion keep nesting.
Nina spreads raspberry jam over her toast with the same precision I imagine she used to run this house. Everything about her is composed. Regal. All that’s missing is a crown, although I dare say she wears an invisible one.
“I hope you slept well,” she says, her voice soft yet sharp.
I nod politely, wondering if she too heard my screams last night. “I did, thank you.”
Liar. The bed was too soft, the silence too loud, and my nightmares too vivid.
Before I can ask her about the layout of the house—because, yes, I’m still getting lost every time I try to find my way around—my phone buzzes against the table. The vibration is abrupt in the quiet and makes my fingers twitch.
I glance down at the screen.
Unknown Number: You can run, but you can’t hide. You think I won’t find you, Keira? Think again.
The breath catches in my throat.
A cold sweat breaks out along my spine.
I try to school my features, but it’s too late.
“Bad news?” Nina asks, her tone casual, but her eyes are anything but.
They’re too sharp, too curious.
I force a swallow and set the phone face-down beside my plate. “Nothing important.”
Not technically a lie. Just... a redirection.
She hums, unconvinced, and returns to her tea, but her gaze lingers for a second longer than necessary. I feel it like a spotlight, trying to peel away the mask I’m wearing this morning.
I pick up my fork and stab at the eggs on my plate, trying to pretend the message hasn’t shaken me. That the rising panic isn’t making my throat too tight to swallow. I focus on Nina’s voice as she talks about the weather, about some herb garden she’s having replanted, anything mundane and safe.
But my head’s not in the room anymore.
That message…is it possible he can find me here? I haven’t told anyone where I am. I didn’t have the chance. And it’s not like I’ve been out and about. This house is so big I haven’t even seen all of it, let alone had the opportunity to sneak out.
Still, I force myself to smile, to nod, to chime in with a soft “mm” or “sounds lovely” whenever appropriate.
I’m not a great actress. I never have been. And by the time we finish eating, I’m exhausted from holding myself together.
“I should get ready,” I murmur, pushing back my chair. “I have a lecture at ten.”
