Page 57 of Whispers of Helena
My thoughts race, grappling with his words. He’s at a breaking point, anger boiling just beneath the surface, but it’s something more. It’s a crack in his reality. He’s asking the questions I’ve been avoiding, and now the moment of truth is crashing down around me. I need to buy some time. He isn’t ready to learn the full truth of my identity. Silas is a delicate thread unraveling before my eyes. I need to calm him, distract him from all of these questions.
“There’s something you need to see, Silas.”
Proof
Silas
“Now isn’tthe time for games, Helena. Tell me,” I growl, the tension in my body wound so tightly it feels as if I might snap. Her eyes are wide, shining with fear.
“You said you wanted to know how I know,” she says softly, but her gaze pierces me like a knife. "Then let me show you."
She twists her wrists against my grip, pinned hard against the doorway, the fight in her is a small fire against my mounting storm. I don’t know what the hell she thinks she can show me that explains the mindfuck she’s been dragging me through, but I loosen my hold, the curiosity gnawing at me despite myself. She tucks her arms close to her chest, rubbing at the marks I’ve surely left.
“Your temper is out of control, Mr. Hayes,” she bites.
I drag a hand roughly through my hair, barely holding onto my patience. “You’re right, Ms. Toth. And it’s damn near its breaking point, so whatever you’ve got to show me, get on with it.”
She exhales sharply, frustration spilling into the air, and spins away from me, heading toward the stable doors. I follow, my eyes catching the sway of her braid as it swings like a pendulum, marking every second of this maddening silence.
I trail her through the back door, curiosity persistent at myedges. Her steps are steadfast as she heads straight to the pantry, her fingers curling around the door handle before stepping inside. I hover in the doorway, watching her small frame as she retrieves a step ladder, positioning it carefully beneath the topmost shelf.
She slowly stretches upward. When she finally turns back to me, cradled in her hands is something instantly recognizable. Caroline’s journal.
“You should have this,” she says, offering it to me.
My breath catches as I snatch it from her hand, the sight of it igniting a scorching flame inside me. “Where the hell did you get this?” My words are laced with accusation.
“Ruth gave it to me.”
I glance down at the worn black cover, its edges charred as though kissed by fire. My voice edges with anger as I ask, “And why would she have it?”
Helena’s shoulders lift in a faint shrug, her gaze calm. “You’ll have to ask her yourself. She told me to keep it safe, away from Kiran.”
The idea of someone else reading it stirs a deep, volatile ache. “Did you read it?” I demand, my fingers clenching the fragile spine.
Her expression softens, and she meets my eyes without wavering. “No, Silas. I wouldn’t do that. But look at the back.”
She gestures for me to turn it over. I flip the journal, the brittle ash along the edges leaving smudges on my fingertips. There it is: in ashen pink paint, a delicate script spells outBronco, with a rose painted beside it. The texture of the brushstrokes, the unmistakable flair of her handwriting. It’s Caroline’s. My breath hitches as I trace the loops and flourishes with the tip of my finger. I haven’t seen these familiar curves since she?—
“Why is it burned?” My thoughts stumble aloud.
Helena tilts her head. “Was there a fire?”
I shake my head, my reply barely more than a whisper. “No.”
Her brow knits briefly before she shrugs, as if filing the question away for later. “Odd,” she murmurs.
She folds the step ladder, sliding it back into its place as I moveaway from the pantry doorway. The silence between us feels heavier than before. “I’ll be in my office if anyone needs me.”
“Alright.” Her voice carries a tenderness as she reaches for a sponge and begins wiping the kitchen island.
Pausing at the threshold, I glance over my shoulder, holding the journal close to my chest. “Thank you for this.”
She looks up, her eyes meeting mine with a flicker of understanding. “You’re welcome.”
“And, Helena?”
Her motions still, the sponge hovering mid-air. “Yes, Silas?”
