Page 14 of Twisted Violet
He tilts his head and eyes the duffel bag I left out by the door. “What’s in the bag?”
Embarrassment warms my cheeks.
“Yeah, um, about that. I was wondering if-”
“The guest house is yours.” He says, cutting me off.
I furrow my brow. “Wait… what?”
“It has been since the minute we learned about you,” he says simply. “Move in. Stevie would want that. So would we.”
I blink, thrown by the certainty in his voice. “Areyou sure?”
He takes his eyes off Stevie to meet mine. “You’re family. Stay as long as you like. Stay forever if you want.”
My throat tightens. “Thanks,” I murmur. “I, um… I guess I’ll swing by later to drop off my stuff.”
“Might as well go now.” He says with a shrug. “The nurses are going to take her in for more testing in a few minutes. Here.” He says, pulling out his keys and tossing them at me. “Take my car.”
I stare at him, a little dumbfounded.Just like that?
“Thanks.” I say, averting my gaze. “Do you guys need me to grab anything while I’m there?”
He nods.
“I’ve got a bag packed for Stevie. A black leather duffle sitting in the foyer by the stairs. Bring it back with you?”
“Sure.”
“Thanks, kid. I’ll text you the gate code.”
He squeezes my shoulder gently and heads back into Stevie’s room without another word.
The rain is coming down hardby the time I reach the gates at the edge of The Reapers’ estate. The headlights cut through the downpour in hazy beams, lighting up the massive black iron bars ahead.
Rain lashes across the windshield in wild streaks, blurring the stone pillars and the ivy-cloaked walls.
I put the car in park, leave the engine running, and just sit there for a second.
The gate doesn’t move.
No lights flash. No comforting click of an automatic unlock. Just the sound of rain hammering the roof, and the faint hiss of the heater.
Oh right.
Atlas sent me the code.
I reach for my phone and spot the keypad box mounted to a post right beside me. It's one of those sleek metal boxes fitted with a security camera and recessed buttons. I’ve never actually used one before, but it shouldn’t be too difficult.
I roll down the window and lean toward the keypad, holding my phone in one hand, while the other hovers over the buttons.
The rain hits immediately, slicing across my arm and dripping down the inside of my sleeve. The metal keys are slick, and my fingers are shaking from the cold.
I punch in the first number, then the second.
My thumb slips on the third.
The red light flashes.
