Page 104 of Gravehouse

My shoulder brushes hers as I pass, ignoring her voice behind me. There are others at the edge of my vision, though I don’t care enough to look. Also, if I catch Camille smirking, I might accidentally finally kill her this time.

Daniel’s already beside the black SUV, one hand holding the back door open, those frown lines carved deep between his brows. Seeing him loosens the knot in my chest.

I slide into the backseat, cold leather biting the backs of my thighs as I press my forehead to the window, dragging my palm over my cheek.

Wet. Still wet.

Daniel settles behind the wheel without a word, starting the engine as gravel crunches beneath the tires.

My phone buzzes against my lap. I almost ignore it.Almost.

Emeric

My thumb hovers, then taps.

New job. Details incoming. Are you ready?

I stare at the screen until the letters blur. Then I type.

Nonna is dead. I’ve called you seventeen times. Seventeen. And you send me a job?

Three dots appear. Disappear. Appear again.

I know she’s gone. I haven’t come to terms with it and I don’t want to talk about it.

I grind my teeth until pain shoots through my jaw, gripping the phone hard enough to make the case creak. I want to hurl it through the windshield and scream that she bled out in my arms, that she told me to trust him, that he’d keep me safe.

Will you take the job?

I swipe my cheeks one last time, rubbing all the evidence of my heartbreak away.

Yes. Give it to me.

Because fuck Asher Delacroix. The only way I know how to move on is by turning myself off.

CHAPTER

TWENTY-TWO

ASHER

She’s gone.

I’ve triedeverythingand nothing is working. I’m running out of ideas. Out of patience. Not for her, but foreveryone else.

CHAPTER

TWENTY-THREE

IVY

It doesn’t matterhow many times I clean. I still see the blood, still remember the weight of my gun and the absolute fucking regret.I wish he’d died.

One month. That’s how long I’ve spent convincing myself I’m fine while his ghost follows me from room to room. I thought I was clever, auctioning the place off at some charity gala, but the joke landed squarely on me when the buyer never contacted my lawyers. So what do I do? Move in. Because where better to rot than the one place that still feels like home?

I bite into a carrot, humming along with the bass pounding through the speakers while Alexa reads the day’s news.

Mount Crow fills the window, stopping my hand above the pot. Goosebumps rise along the back of my neck.