Page 15 of Under Fyre

A cup of coffee. Some chamomile tea. A plate of chocolate chip cookies.

There’s also a small notebook on the tray. It looks well-used, three-quarters of the pages rifled at the edges. For someone as neat as Fyre, I wouldn’t expect to see him lugging around such a shabby journal.

He doesn’t mention it, though he must see me staring at it.

It’s about ten minutes before my curiosity gets the better of me. “What’s that?” I point with my half-eaten cookie.

Fyre takes a last sip of coffee and puts his empty mug down on the tray. “Some notes.”

“About me?” I shove the last of the cookie in my mouth. I don’t know why on earth I’m so hungry—it’s not like I’m burning calories lying in bed.

“Some parts, yes.” Fyre touches the outside of the black moleskin journal. “Would you like me to read something to you?”

Unease creeps under my skin like a burrowing insect. I shrug, keeping my face neutral as I reach for another cookie.

“Finish your tea first.”

My hand pauses in the air, but then I take the cookie anyway. I finish it, and the tea, and as I’m putting my mug down, Fyre picks up the notebook.

He flips through it, his face unreadable, and then he slips his thumb between the pages to keep his place.

“There was a game we used to play,” he reads, the tone of his voice changing ever so slightly. I guess this is what he’d sound like if I ever attended one of his psychology lectures at the community college. “I called it Five Finger Fun.”

A tremor courses through me. I shift on the bed, and Fyre’s eyes go to mine. “Are you uncomfortable?” He looks at my clothes, my hair still bundled in the towel.

“No.” Then I frown at the notebook. “Who wrote that?”

“I did.” Fyre’s face is a mask. “But these aren’t my words.”

“Then whose—?”

He lifts a finger.

I close my mouth.

“Five Finger Fun was her favorite game. She was always putting up a fuss, but when I took out that red die, she’d go quiet. That’s how I knew she liked to play.”

An image of a red dice flashes into my mind. It’s so vivid, so clear, that for a moment it’s all I can see. Fyre, the room, even my own body disappears.

But as soon as he starts speaking again, reality replaces the odd vision.

“I think she liked it because it was easy. She liked the easy games. Games she could understand. This one wasbasic.I’d throw the dice, and she’d hold up however many fingers to guess what number I’d thrown.”

Fyre pauses, his eyes intent on mine. When I don’t say anything, he carries on.

“If she guesses right, then I give her a finger of strawberry liqueur. Shelovesstrawberry liqueur.”

My mouth goes dry. When Fyre looks up at me, I drop my gaze. My hands are clenched in tight fists in my lap.

Why is this making me so anxious? My heart is beating faster, my skin becoming clammy. Even with my wet hair, my face feels too hot.

“Stop,” I mumble.

Fyre doesn’t listen.

“But if she guesses wrong, that’s when I get my Five Finger Fun.”

“Stop!”

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