Page 22 of Hidden Echoes

This is a game—a dangerous one. And I know it has everything to do with my mother’s drunken frustrations. She’s probably reminded Taylor again how much they’re alike. That always sends her spiraling, searching for something—or someone—to destroy.

But Taylor isn’t my mother.

She’s not my responsibility, I tell myself.

But she’s your little sister.She needs you.

She thinks you hate her. And maybe that’s for the best.

Damn.

Abigail, who had somehow drifted off mid-conversation and spent the entire time napping, suddenly stirred.

Blinking groggily, she sat up, only to find Seth and Taylor standing way too close. Her drowsiness faded in an instant, replaced by an apprehensive expression as her gaze flickered between them.

“…Did I miss something?” she asked slowly, her voice thick with sleep but laced with suspicion.

“No.”Just everything.

I take her hand, offering a small, reassuring smile. But I know what she is thinking because I’m thinking the same.

Seth and Taylor are alike in one way: they live for the challenge. The thrill of the hunt. But mostly, they live to sabotage themselves.

Seth leans in closer to Taylor, his lips brushing her ear. I can’t hear what he whispers, but whatever it is makes her blush.

She turns to face him, their eyes locking. The tension between them is unbearable, and I’m not about to stand here and watch my sister hook up with someone like Seth.

This is my moment to escape.

Abigail looks equally uneasy, but she has classes to get to. I, on the other hand, am done with this school shit.

I’m in a bad mood and haven’t been able to sleep since yesterday’s argument.

My mom and Taylor—they’re always so hard on each other.

It’s heartbreaking to watch them tear each other apart. Ky’s too busy studying and working to keep the house afloat, and Taylor and I have agreed to keep him in the dark about what goes on when he’s not around.

It’d only make things worse if he knew.

Besides, she usually settles down when she’s found someone to distract herself with—her latest form of self-destruction.

With nowhere else to go, I head to the abandoned tunnel at the edge of town. It’s my spot—a quiet place for graffiti and naps, my personal refuge in this dump of a town.

But today, it’s not empty.

Someone’s there.

It’s a woman. She’s covered in bruises, her hair a stark contrast—half black, the other half matted with blood. Her eyes are wild, desperate. She doesn’t look young—early thirties, maybe—but her face is etched with exhaustion, like she’s running from something.

She notices me before I can slip away. Her voice is shaky, almost a whisper.

"Are you real?"

Real? Am I real?

CHAPTER 6

ZANE

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