Page 64 of Shadowed Whispers

Days like today dredge up the past in a way that’s hard to ignore. Memories creep forward unbidden, rising like floodwater, with flashes of my former life spilling behind my eyes. It feels as if the past claws its way into the present, refusing to be buried in the recesses of my mind. As I gaze into the mirror, the reflection doesn’t show the woman I’m striving to become. Instead, it reveals the frightened little girl I once was—her eyes too large for a harsh world, hiding her vulnerability behind a façade of bravery. Each image is a shard of glass, a reminder of the relentless heartbreak and the solitude of my childhood.

No matter how many times I try to kill that inner child, she just won’t die, and I need her to die. I need her to go away so I can look myself in the eye and say I did what I could to save her. The truth is, I couldn’t save myself then. The fabric of my sweater feels like a thin barrier against the flood of emotions threatening to spill out of me.

All that pain bubbles up and drags me down beneath the waves of memories better left forgotten. The sensation is like drowning, with the past pulling me under. As I tie my shoes, the simple action feels monumental, each loop a small victory against the sorrow that tries to sweep me away.

I stare at the woman before me, her dark hair cropped close to her head, reflecting the sterile office light. Her red nails clack on her keyboard as her dark eyes scan her computer screen meticulously. My backpack is at my feet, made of canvas with fading mushrooms on the front. The fabric is stained and frayed, but it’s mine, given to me a couple of years ago by the one family I thought would keep me.

Turns out they couldn’t.

They were the first ones to send me back. They didn’t want a broken little girl. They didn’t want me. It hurt that first time, it hurt the second, and now, as I sit before Ms. Barnes once again, that age-old hurt tries to bubble back up. The air in the room feels heavier, as if laden with the unspoken truths of countless similar meetings held here.

They can’t hurt me if I don’t let them.

“Alright, Francesca.” She leans forward, her eyes warm but holding a professionalism that forms a subtle barrier between us. “I think I found the perfect family for you.”

I swallow. Perfect is subjective. At least that’s what my favorite foster mom said—the one I wanted to keep me. “I still don’t understand why I can’t go back to the Davies.” My voice sounds scared, and I hate that I let that slip through.

Licking her lips, Ms. Barnes gives me a soft smile, her attempt to ease the tension palpable yet inadequate. “I’m so sorry, Francesca. They lost the ability to foster,” she tells me gently.

I can’t look at her, so I look at the window behind her. If I keep looking at her, tears will drip down my face, so I just nod and clench my jaw to keep from speaking to her.

“Now, I think I found a good family. They currently have four kids, and you’d be the fifth.” She beams at me before grabbing her phone. “You can let them in.”

The door creaks open, and standing there is a tall man who smiles at Ms. Barnes, then he looks to me with his blue eyes. “Hello there, Francesca,” he says while crouching down to look me in the eye. “We are very excited to have you as a part of our family.”

He says all the right things, they always do, but he feels wrong, cold, and something else I can’t quite put my finger on. I don’t like it, and I don’t like the way he’s looking at me.

Luckily, he looks over his shoulder, and a boy with ice-blue eyes steps in. His smile is wide and welcoming, unlike this guy.

“Hey!” he says, holding out his hand. I just look at it. “You’re supposed to shake it,” he whispers.

I don’t give him my hand.

The man beside him chuckles. “Give her some time, Bishop.” He turns back to me. “In no time, you two will be the best of friends.”

As these thoughts swirl in my mind, there’s a sudden interruption. The click of the door signals a shift back to reality. Tori steps into the room, freshly showered with a full face of makeup. Her belongings hit the desk with a soft thud. She seems hesitant, shifting from foot to foot as she turns to face me. It’s a jarring but necessary return to the present, pulling me out of the depths of my reflections.

Rolling my eyes at her, I say, “Spit it out, Tori.”

Huffing and tossing her hair over her shoulder, she places her hands on her hips. “Do you want to walk to crypto with me?”

I blink at her. Is she serious? “You hate me.”

“So?” She sniffs. “Doesn’t mean I want to walk alone.”

I should tell her no and maybe see if Matteo is nearby, or even Leo, except I blurt out, “Why not.” I groan internally. Fuck, I’m going to regret this.

“Perfect.” She glances at her watch. “We should go now.”

Why do I get the feeling this is going to end badly for me?

Grabbing my backpack, I sling it over my shoulder and gesture to the door. “Lead the way, oh noble one.”

“Don’t make it weird, Frankie.” She grabs her things and pushes past me. When she opens the door, the hall’s chatter filters in. Everyone is awake now since it’s later in the morning.

I shut and lock the door behind me and follow Tori out of the tower, feeling awkward.

The brisk morning air hits us as we step outside, and I tighten my jacket around me. Tori strides ahead, her pace clipped and purposeful, almost like she doesn’t exactly want to be seen with me even though she is the one who asked me to walk with her to class. The silence between us stretches, and I half expect her to shatter it with something cutting or dismissive, but she remains silent, her eyes focused straight ahead.

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