Page 14 of Wraith

My heart warmed. Elise. My roommate. My friend. She cared. She noticed.

“She’ll figure it out,” Lucian said with a dismissive wave. “People disappear all the time.”

A flicker of irritation crossed Kael’s face. “She’s not exactly subtle, though. If someone starts digging?—”

“Then we’ll deal with it,” Lucian snapped, his voice sharp. “It’s not like she was anything special.”

The air grew thick, pressing down on me like a weight I couldn’t escape. The bond pulsed faintly, tightening around my chest like a vice. My gaze snapped to Ciaran. He stood rigid, his hands flexing at his sides, his eyes fixed on the floor. His silence cut sharper than any words, a prelude to something I wasn’t ready to hear.

“She was always too much,” he muttered finally, the words tumbling out like he hadn’t meant to say them. His voice wasquiet, strained, but the impact was deafening. “We didn’t have a choice.”

The room tilted as those words sank in, heavy and suffocating. My breath hitched, my chest seizing with the weight of them.Too much.No choice.

My fists clenched at my sides, and the bond flared violently in response, a searing pain that stole what little strength I had left. I stumbled back, clutching at my chest as if I could claw it out. Their voices grew louder, sharper, cutting through me until all I could hear was a symphony of rejection.

I couldn’t take it anymore.

I fled.

When I returned to the theater, I didn’t even bother looking at the stage. My legs carried me to the corner instinctively, and I collapsed against the wall, the cold wood pressing against my back as I curled in on myself. The dim light flickered above, casting jagged shadows across the empty room, but I didn’t notice. I didn’t care.

“They’re better off without me,” I whispered into the void, my voice trembling, hollow. “They don’t care. They never cared.”

My fingers dug into my palms, sharp and biting. The ache in my chest twisted, the familiar sting of despair morphing into something sharper, darker. It burned through me, stripping away the fragile hope I’d clung to, leaving only raw, unrelenting rage.

“They didn’t have a choice,” I spat bitterly, repeating the excuse that had shattered me. The words tasted vile on my tongue, like poison I couldn’t swallow.

The bond pulsed again, not a chain pulling me down but something far more dangerous—a weapon, volatile and waiting. For the first time, I wasn’t sure if it was going to destroy me.

Or if I was going to destroy them.

Nine

Thorne’s apartmentfelt like a hollow shell, polished and lifeless. The sleek furniture, the dim lighting, the scent of expensive whiskey faint in the air—it was all so meticulously curated. Just like him.

He sat on the couch, head tipped back against the cushions, staring at the ceiling like it held answers he couldn’t find. A half-empty glass dangled from his fingers, the amber liquid catching the light as it swirled lazily with his restless movements.

I drifted closer, skimming along the edges of the room, careful not to get too close. Everything about this place was so perfectly in place, so controlled, that my presence felt like an intrusion.

My gaze fell on him again, on the way his hand tightened imperceptibly around the glass. His jaw clenched, then relaxed, his eyes hooded but far from at ease. It was strange, seeing him like this—unguarded. Alone.

“You’re not as invincible as you think,” I muttered, the words more for me than him.

I turned toward the kitchen counter, my attention catching on the chair nearest me. The urge hit before I could stop it—an ache to feel something, anything, in this empty shell of an existence.

Slowly, I reached out. My fingers hovered over the back of the chair, and for the first time since my death, I felt resistance. Solid, tangible.

My chest tightened with a jolt of shock, and I pressed down harder, my translucent hand flickering as it met the cold wood.

The chair wobbled.

Energy surged through me, sharp and electric, filling the void where my soul should have been. I pushed harder, gripping the chair’s back with both hands, and it tipped. The moment it hit the ground with a sharp crash, an invisible force yanked at me, hollowing me out.

I staggered—or at least, it felt like staggering. My form flickered as exhaustion slammed into me like a wave, dragging me under.

The sound of the chair hitting the floor startled Thorne, snapping him out of his haze. His head shot up, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the room.

“What the fuck?” he muttered, his voice sharp and clipped.

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