Page 44 of In Shadows We Dance

No footsteps. No voices. Nothing to suggest anyone has discovered my absence. My knees nearly buckle, the tension draining so quickly I have to grab the doorframe to stay upright. My relief is fleeting, though, chased away by the flood of memories.

The ballroom. The trees. His hands on my body. His lips on mine.

My fingers touch the bruise on my neck.

Oh god. How visible is it?

I grab my pajamas and walk out of my room. The bathroom light reveals the mess I’m in. My hair is tangled, twigs and leaves caught in its strands. Angry scratches streak across my arms, and my shirt hangs limp, torn in places where branches have ripped it.

But it's my face that makes my stomach clench. There’s a dark bruise on my throat. It’s impossible to ignore. My stomach knots at the thought of what my dad will say if he sees it.

I peel off my clothes, wincing as the fabric drags over broken skin. The ballet flats Wren gave me are shredded, dark with blood and dirty. I untie them with shaking fingers, and let them fall to the floor.

The hot water burns as it hits the cuts, and I grit my teeth. Dirt and blood wash away, spiraling down the drain, but no amount of scrubbing can erase the memory of his hands on me. I scrub harder, ignoring the sting, but it’s not enough. It willneverbe enough.

Eventually, the water runs cold and I step out, dry and pullon my pajamas. When I return to my room, the space feels smaller, the air heavier. My fingers move to my throat again, tracing the bruise.

Why didn’t I call out to my dad? Why am I here, sitting in silence, instead of screaming for help?

Before I get into bed, I crouch, checking beneath it.

Stupid. Childish.

But his words echo in my head—I’m always watching—and I need to be sure. Nothing but dust and old magazines. Still, the act of looking makes me feel like a little girl afraid of shadows. Except now I know the real monsters don't hide under beds. They stand outside windows with dark eyes and smiles that promise both danger and deliverance.

The windowpane seems paper-thin, its surface a poor shield against Wren should he wish to return. One quick movement and he could be back, tapping on the glass, demanding I let him in.

The thought should terrify me. Instead, it sends a strange thrill through my nerves, like the moment before a grand jeté, when gravity loosens its hold and anything feels possible.

I curl up on my bed, staring at the ceiling. Sleep remains a distant dream. The familiar shapes of my room shift in the darkness, creating patterns that remind me of trees in moonlight.

Of being chased. Of being caught.

How can I go to school tomorrow? Face him across classrooms and hallways?

My alarm clock counts down the minutes until morning, when I'll have to step back into my invisible girl routine— eyes cast down and shoulders curved inward, becoming nothing more than a shadow against the wall. Only now there are scratches on my arms, a bruise on my neck, and the memory of his kiss on my lips.

But the worst part isn’t what happened tonight. It’s that someone finally noticed me, and instead of hating it, I’m lying here, replaying every moment, waiting for next time.

CHAPTER 22

Darkness Devours

WREN

The curtain betraysher every shift, as she moves through her room. My phone captures each turn, each pause, but the low light reduces her to blurred grays. She deserves better. Better equipment. Clearer shots.

Three steps back gives me the perfect angle between streetlight and darkness, but it's still not enough. Not nearly enough.

She pauses near the window. Searching.

Click. Another shit photograph. The resolution is too low to catch the way her breath fogs the glass, the subtle tension in her shoulders. I need better equipment. Soon.

Her silhouette retreats, then returns, brushing against the brittle barrier of metal and glass between us. My thumb swipes through the images, deleting the worst. Even the best are inadequate. They lack the visceral pull of watching her in real time. But they'll have to do. For now.

Click.

"You done?" Monty's voice carries from his car.

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