Page 80 of Twisted Violet
The silence that follows feels like a closing door.
Thick. Final.
None of us say anything to dispute it. We can’t.
After Violet’s attack, Stevie needed her somewhere safe, but she knew she’d never agree to be sequestered away with bodyguards. The Reapers pitched the idea; they would propose the idea of her going into hiding, and the three of us would offer her a place to stay instead.
Dallas hated the plan from the start. He didn’t want to lie to her. Niko and I weren’t thrilled either, until they threw in an exclusivity contract. If we agreed, all our jobs from here on out would be for them. No more chasing random clients, no more splitting focus. With the added cash incentive, it was too good of an offer to pass up. So we took it, and I didn’t think about the consequences.
Seems like I’ve been doing that a lot lately.
I let her kiss me. I let her crawl into my bed. I let myself fall for her. And now I’m forcing myself to downplay it because that’s easier than telling them the truth.
That I lost control. That I’d do it again. That I don’t regret a goddamn second of it.
Then I hear it. Not the silence.Not the breathing. Something else.
Ollie’s paws.
Light. Quick. Fading.
I go still.
I know that sound. I’ve heard it every morning since she moved in, and it only means one thing.
She’s awake.
I push off the wall and start for the hallway.
Stevie’s voice cuts in behind me. “Where are you going?”
I don’t answer, because if I stop, I might not go at all. I just move. Fast and focused, like I already know what I’m about to find.
The hallway’s empty when I step out. I round the corner just in time to see her bedroom door shut.Softly.Almost like she didn’t want anyone to hear it.
I stop in front of her door and press my hand against the wood like maybe I’ll feel something through it. Like I can sense her on the other side, reaching back.
But there’s nothing. No sound, no movement, nothing at all.
I could knock. I could say something. I don’t, because if she was listening; I don’t have an excuse for what she heard. Not a good one, anyway.
So I go back to my room. Lie down in the bed that still smells like her.Pull the covers up and pretend I don’t feel the cold spot where she used to be.
By the timeI hear movement outside my door again, the sun’s already up.
Soft footsteps. Cabinet doors opening and closing. The clink of glass.
Violet.
I get up, throw on a sweatshirt and joggers, and race out of my room to find her.
When I step into the kitchen, I see her standing there cooking like nothing’s wrong.
She’s got her lavender hair tied back, sleeves pushed up, and she’s standing at the stove in a hoodie that’s way too big on her with Ollie laying down at her feet.
She doesn’t flinch when she sees me.
“Morning,” she says, like it’s the most normal thing in the world. “Want breakfast?”
