Page 143 of At First Spark
“Jesus,” Lark breathes behind me.
The worktables have been torn apart. Blueprints soaked. Paint splashed across stacked trim boards and salvaged materials waiting to go back into the inn. Deep gouges carved through cabinet fronts.
And written across one of the tarps in dripping black paint—
YOU DON’T BELONG HERE
The words hit like a punch.
Rook growls low beside me. Lark moves before I can stop her, crossing deeper into the barn, eyes scanning the destruction like she can’t decide what hurts worse—the damage or the violation of it.
“She was here,” she says quietly.
Yeah. She was.
My gaze catches on movement near the back stall.
A shadow.
Still.
Watching.
Lightning flashes, and for half a second, I see her face.
Smiling.
Then she runs.
“Fuck.”
I shove through the barn doors without thinking.
“Holt!”
Lark’s voice follows me into the storm, but adrenaline has already taken over.
Mud tears at my footing as I push toward the tree line, rain blurring everything beyond ten feet. I catch movement once—dark hoodie disappearing between the trees—but Kenzie knows this property too well now.
Too many blind spots.
Too many places to disappear.
I stop before I lose visibility completely, chest heaving as thunder cracks overhead hard enough to shake the ground beneath my boots.
That’s when I hear Lark gasp behind me. I turn instantly. She’s standing near the broken worktable now, one hand braced against the edge.
Blood runs down her forearm, not deep, but enough. Enough to make something violent twist in my chest.
I cross the space in seconds. “What happened?”
“Glass,” she says, breathing unevenly. “I didn’t see it.”
I grab her wrist carefully, turning her arm just enough to inspect the cut.
Rainwater drips from her hair onto the floor between us.
“She destroyed everything,” Lark whispers.
