Page 86 of In Shadows We Dance

We're both too far gone for any other ending.

CHAPTER 45

Shadows That Breathe

ILEANA

Sleep is impossible.Not because of fear, but because every time I close my eyes, I feel his hands on me again. His mouth. His touch. The way he made me come while my mother stood outside my door. The memory sends heat flooding through me, followed by a dark thrill that leaves me unsteady.

Last night's argument with my father hangs heavy in the air. His accusations. My defiance. The way his face darkened when he saw the mark on my throat.

I've given you rules to protect you.

But for the first time, I wonder if he's really protecting me, or if he's just controlling me.

Wren's whispered promises tangle with questions I've never dared to ask before.

Hospital records that don't exist.

Money that appeared from nowhere.

Why Daddy checks the locks three times every night.

Dawn creeps through my window. The same window where I stood half-naked last night, placing a black rose like an invitation. Like a surrender. The same window Wren entered through, turning my rebellion into something else entirely. Something that makes my skin flush just thinking about it.

"Ileana!" My father's voice carries through the door. He still sounds angry. "You're going to be late!"

I take longer than necessary getting ready, a small act of rebellion. When I finally emerge, he's waiting in the kitchen, coffee cup gripped too tight in his hand. The silence between uscrackles with tension.

"You missed breakfast," he says flatly.

"Not hungry." I grab my bag, avoiding his eyes.

"Look at me when I'm talking to you."

I turn slowly, lifting my chin. His gaze immediately goes to my throat, checking for evidence of what he saw last night. The mark is barely visible now, but his jaw tightens anyway.

"We'll discuss this when you get home."

"There's nothing to discuss." The words come out harder than I intend.

"Don't take that tone with me." He sets his cup down with careful precision. "I've spent your entire life keeping you safe?—"

"Keeping me invisible, you mean."

The silence that follows is deafening. Mom appears in the doorway, anxiety clear on her face as she looks between us.

"Both of you need to calm down," she says softly.

"I'm late for school." I turn away, but his voice stops me.

"This behavior stops now. Do you understand me?"

I don't answer. Don't look back. Just walk out the door with my heart pounding and defiance burning in my veins.

The walk to school feels charged, electric. Every shadow could hide him, every parked car could conceal him. But the anticipation that courses through me isn't entirely fear anymore.

When I reach my locker, evidence of his presence waits for me. My books aren't quite how I left them. The angle is wrong. The stack is slightly askew. A photograph sits on top—me at my window last night, the rose in my hand, moonlight turning my skin silver. The next shows me looking out into the darkness, searching. For him.

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