Maybe the only person who ever has.
And this time, it doesn’t feel like something I’m fighting.
CHAPTER 55
IVY
I’m sitting on the edge of the bed, my phone loose in my hand, the screen dimming and lighting again as I scroll without really seeing anything.
There’s still nothing new. Nothing fromhim. No messages. No missed calls. No follow-up. Just nothing. Too much nothing.
I should be relieved. It was unnerving receiving the anonymous messages. Not knowing when they would come through or what bizarre thing they would say.
They didn’t scare me—not that much. Because I knew he was locked up. Somehow able to ferry messages to me, but unable to follow through on his unhinged rantings.
But now… nothing.
That’s almost worse. Because at least when he was messaging me, I knew what he was up to. Not that I think he’s got the intellect to successfully break out of prison, although he would most certainly have the gumption to try.
My thumb stills against the screen. That’s the part that doesn’t make sense—he didn’t stop before. He didn’t give up. Ifanything, he got worse. More persistent. More present. And now… total silence. Like he was never there at all.
Unease moves through me—quiet but persistent—threading through the calm instead of breaking it. Because I know why. I don’t say it. I don’t even fully let myself think it. But it’s there. Sitting just beneath everything else.
He handled it.
Soren must have done something.
My grip tightens slightly around the phone. The words replay too easily. Too clean. Too final. I swallow, setting the phone down beside me like it’s suddenly heavier than it should be. I should feel worse. Scared. Panicked. Something.
Instead I feel…steady. That’s what’s wrong. That’s what doesn’t line up.
Footsteps.
I don’t look up right away. I don’t need to. I feel him before I see him.
“You’re quiet.” His voice is soft.
I lift my head slowly.
He’s watching me. Already reading something in my face I haven’t decided how to hide.
“It’s nothing,” I say. It comes out easier this time—less forced. That should bother me too, but it doesn’t.
He steps closer. His hand finds me first, settling at my waist like it belongs there.
My body reacts immediately. My breath softens, and the tension in my chest loosens. I don’t try to pull away this time. I don’t think about it at all.
“I told you. There’s nothing out there for you.” The words settle. “You’re not missing anything.”
My eyes flick up to his. I should argue. I should push back. I should say something about how that’s not true, how he doesn’t get to decide that. But I don’t. Because part of me understands. And that’s worse than anything else.
“Not anymore.”
My chest tightens. Just briefly—enough that I feel it before it fades again under the weight of his hand, the warmth of him, the way everything else goes quiet when he’s this close.
My fingers curl against his shirt. I don’t notice until the fabric shifts under my hand.
He notices. His hand tightens slightly at my waist. Not enough to hurt, just enough to hold. To keep me exactly where I am.