Page 32 of Steel's Secret
Steam curls into the air as the water heats, fogging the edge of the stovetop, too much like the way my breath fogged against his throat hours ago.
I blink hard, swallow, and steady my hands. I’m pouring tea when my phone buzzes.
Unknown number. My fingers freeze, and my heart leaps in my throat.
I swipe the notification open.
Steel: You home safe?
For a heartbeat, everything in me goes soft. Dangerous. True.
I type two words.
Aria: Miss you.
My thumb hovers over the send button. My chest pulls tight. My breath catches. Then I delete them and answer with the safer lie.
Aria: Yeah. I’m okay.
Three dots appear. Disappear. Appear again.
Steel: Good.
Just one word, but the silence around it is loud enough to break me open. I know what he isn’t saying. I know why he isn’t saying it. He’s avoiding me because he thinks distance will save us. Because I left him when he needed me. Because wanting me hurts him as much as it hurts me.
I set my phone down, pressing my palm to the ring resting warm against my sternum. For one long, fragile breath, I let myself believe this feeling, this crack opening, this wanting, might be safe.
The kettle clicks off. The house settles. Snow drifts lazily past the window in soft spirals of white.
I turn toward the hallway. My phone buzzes again from the table.
Once. Twice. It’s sharp enough to snag the breath right out of my lungs.
I go back into the kitchen, expecting Steel.
It’s not him.
Unknown Number: A picture message.
My stomach drops before I even tap it open.
The screen fills with a grainy, dark image unmistakably real.
Me sleeping in the cot beside Isaiah. Taken from inside the garage.
Ice shoots through my veins so fast I sway on my feet.
A second later, text appears beneath the photo. Slow and deliberate, like someone savoring the words.
Unknown Number: We know where you belong. Storms don’t hide secrets forever.
The phone slips in my hand. The house seems to tilt around me. My pulse roars loud enough to drown out the world.
Someone wasn’t just watching the storm.
Someone was there.
Inside the garage. Close enough to touch us. Close enough to kill us.
And they’re not finished. Not even close.
