Page 91 of Hidden Memories

I take my bag to my room to unpack. It’s perfect here. Both Theo and I have our own bedrooms, en suites. The decor is very classy but still homely, minimalist but warm with Spanish-inspired colors and textures. And the art is like Arthur said. Everywhere. Well placed. Beautifully selected with pieces that seem to be curated for every space.

I put my suitcase on the desk in the room and open it; my eye catches on the painting above.

It’s a print, and I’m positive it’s Dalí. Surrealist butterflies against a barren landscape. I glance around the other walls and on the shelves. More butterflies to match the theme. Maybe this is his Monarch Hills room.

Eventually, Theo’s footsteps come down the hall followed by a louder pair, and the whittling duo enter the room.

“Mom, look at this.” Theo holds out the wood. He has a glove on his left hand. “We already rounded the corners out.”

It doesn’t look like they’ve done much, but Theo is so proud I’m impressed by his excitement alone.

“Awesome. Was it hard?” I ask.

“I already have it down, but Santi is making me wear this glove.” Theo lifts his left hand as if Santi asked him to wear a snowsuit to go swimming.

Santi winks at me. “There should still be five fingers in there.”

Theo glances at Santi. “Can I do the rest of the rounding by myself?”

“I think you got it.” Santi glances at me for the final approval. “The glove makes it pretty safe. Plus, the knife I got him has double finger protection guards for hand without.”

So. Damn. Thoughtful.

“Okay,” I concede. “But if you’re going on to a step Santi hasn’t showed you before, you need a lesson first. Got it? No new steps without an adult present.”

Not that I intend to let Theo ever be alone. Not until all this drama is resolved for sure. Until these people are caught, or until somehow they know those drives aren’t with me.

Theo skips back off to his room with determination in his eyes.

“Thank you,” I say quietly.

He steps closer, the air between us thick. “You don’t have to thank me. This is what I want to do.”

The words hang there, full of meaning, and I’m not sure if he’s talking about Theo, about me, or both of us. Mybreath catches as he reaches out, his fingers brushing against mine for the briefest moment before he pulls back.

“Get some rest,” he says, his voice low and filled with something I can’t quite name.

And then he’s gone.

The warmth of his touch lingers—just a whisper on my skin, but enough to brand me.

But something else lingers, too.

The memory of those cameras. Of those unseen eyes. Of the feeling that someone is watching. Waiting. That this fight isn’t over—just biding its time.

I stare at the butterflies in the painting, their delicate wings frozen mid-flight.

I know exactly how they feel.

Chapter Twenty-Three

PRESENT

The house breathesin the quiet of the night, its walls humming with the faint chirp of crickets and the soft groan of settling wood. I lie awake, staring at the ceiling, my mind caught in the undertow of everything that has unfolded today. Every thought finds its way back to her.

Kat. Her name is on repeat and causes insomnia. Anyone who knows the tossing and turning of a sleepless night understands how much that amplifies emotion. I can’t get her out of my head. Her gaze wanted to believe in something but didn’t know how. Her eyes—those stormy,beautiful blue eyes—held so much more than words ever could. And her touch, brief as it was, still burns on my skin.

I comb my fingers through my hair and sit up. The room is too small, too stifling. I’ve been telling myself to leave her be, to give her space, but the thought of her just down the hall, alone with her worries, is a tide pulling me out to sea. It’s reckless. I know it is. But I also know I won’t sleep unless I see her.

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