Page 118 of Ashen Souls

Then Daeren’s parting threat poisoned the moment.

I left him alive as a mirror.

The warmth ebbed, giving way to a cold clarity. Any interaction, any slip of restraint on my part, would get him killed.

I lowered the phone, looking back toward the water. Replying required minimal effort.

But turning Ethan into a refuge was a dangerous game. He had already waded into my chaos once, pulling me away from a drunk stranger with an almost old-fashioned restraint. His anger that night hadn't been possessive. It was purely protective. A crucial distinction I only fully appreciated now.

That protectiveness made him the perfect target. He was no longer protected by a professional boundary. He was bait. If Daeren's wrath breached the veil again, Ethan wouldn't just be a casualty. His execution would be the final blow Daeren used to break me.

I locked the screen and slipped the phone back into my pocket. Leaving the messages unanswered was a necessary quarantine. Caring about anyone right now carried a lethal price tag.

Closing my eyes, I let the rhythmic crash of the surf drown out the noise. I owed no explanations to Harper. I owed no pleasantries to Ethan. And I refused to dedicate a single additional thought to the monster who thought he owned me.

33

Istayed.

I let the desolate coastline break my momentum.

The off-season town behind the beach was quiet. Within an hour of wandering, I found an inn wedged between a bakery and a closed souvenir shop.

A brass bell chimed, drawing the attention of the woman behind the reception desk. She studied me, taking in the slumped shoulders, the slept-in clothes, and the bruised exhaustion shadowing my face.

“Passing through?” she asked.

“For a few days. If you have anything available.”

“You’re lucky.” She tapped a worn ledger. “Off-season has its advantages.”

Getting a room was simple. I scrawled my name and followed her up a creaking staircase. The second floor smelled of dried lavender and lemon wax. She stopped at the farthest end of the corridor, turned an iron key in the lock, and pushed the door open.

“It’s small,” she offered. “But the walls are thick.”

“That’s exactly what I need.”

The room was modest: a twin bed, a desk, a window framing the endless surf. It was perfect.

I had zero intention of lingering indoors, though. First, however, I had to wash him off my skin.

I locked the bathroom door, wrenched the shower to its hottest setting, and scrubbed my skin red. The grit of the highway washed away easily. His lingering presence proved far more stubborn.

The heat eventually worked into my muscles, dissolving the tight cords locked into my back. For a brief, pathetic minute, I pretended the humiliation could simply swirl down the drain alongside the lather.

Downstairs, the inn owner slid a mug of black coffee and a plate of eggs onto my table without a word. I ate with ravenous hunger, but the moment my stomach was full, the adrenaline that had fueled my escape gave out.

I barely made it back upstairs. Collapsing onto the bed, the heavy duvet swallowed me before I could even kick off my jeans.

When I opened my eyes, the room was steeped in the slanted orange light of late afternoon. 4:42 p.m. I had slept for nearly seven hours. I pushed myself upright, the fog in my skull finally burned off.

This was the prescribed remedy. Solitude, salt water, and time. But I knew this exile was temporary.

I would walk the shoreline. I would rest. But most importantly, I had to figure out my next move before Daeren came looking.

Because he would.

I remained in that coastal town until the end of spring break.