Page 65 of Ethereally Redeemed

I can feel his breath against my neck, his hand resting there as he presses a tender kiss to the nape of my neck. A warm, primal heat stirs within me, a stark contrast to the chilling sense of unease gnawing at the edges of my mind.

“You’re fucking beautiful, darling. Nothing can ever compete with that.”

A smile plays on my lips, but beneath it is a dark foreboding. It feels as though an ominous wave is approaching, drowning us like a tsunami and sweeping away everything we’ve fought so hard for. The dread of impending doom lingers, where everything will disappear in the blink of an eye and Emilio will find us again even after we cut out the tracking chip.

The mere thought of that device being inside my skin fills me with a revulsion that I struggle to push aside.

Emilio is dead.

Frederick is dead.

Arthur is fucking dead.

But in the recesses of mind, they’re all still very much alive.

The loud roar of an approaching engine cuts through the peaceful silence. A bus rumbles toward us, its headlights slicing through the darkness as it parks right before the station. There are only a few scattered passengers milling about the station, approaching the vehicle quietly, as if no one dares utter a word in the night.

Grey rises from the bench, grabbing our backpack and slinging it over his shoulder as he strides toward the bus with a determined gait. I follow closely behind him, my eyes anxiously scanning the passengers, searching for any hint that they somehow might be onto us, ready to turn us over to the authorities.

Paranoia has intensified with each day since our escape—everyone feels like an enemy, someone out to hurt us, and I can’t help but see the worst in people. If trusting others was hard before, it’s become nearly impossible now.

Boarding the bus should be easy, but it’s not, and the overwhelming urge to flee pulses through me. Even if we’re moving toward a potential, though fraught, safety.

The streetlight casts eerie shadows across the nearly deserted bus station, creating a landscape of shifting darkness. I stick close to the bus, my senses heightened as I watch Grey speak to the driver. Every snap of a twig outside causes my heart to clench painfully.

As Grey hands over cash for our two tickets, the bus driver eyes him suspiciously. Our funds are dwindling fast, and soon, we’ll have nothing left—spending our last reserves in the hope of finding Everlee.

After many seconds of silence where the driver merely staresat us, he lets us through, and my shoulders sag with the breath of relief escaping me. Several passengers are scattered about—some asleep, others absorbed in their phones. No one seems to pay us any mind as we make our way to the back, luckily finding it empty. I scrutinize each face, searching for any sign of Emilio.

He’s fucking dead.

Despite my attempts to reassure myself, my heart pounds relentlessly, a wild rhythm that feels as if it will shatter my ribcage.

We settle into the back, where two seats are vacant but isolated from the rest of the passengers. Grey silently gestures for me to take the window seat, and the thought of him wanting to protect me in that way stirs something deep in my stomach. It’s not long until the bus starts with a low rumble, the engine’s hum vibrating through the seats.

Soon, the vehicle drives out onto an empty street without any traffic this time of night. Trees and houses pass by in a haste, becoming a blurry picture in my eyes, until finally the houses disappear and only an endless forest stretches beside the road.

Memories crash over me like a punch to the temple, dragging me back to the day we escaped the dollhouse with Daxton. The surroundings now mirror those same harrowing moments.

You’re delusional.

Yet the sense of panic comes over me as I glance at Grey, seeing his eyes closing from exhaustion. The anxiety spirals, urging me to cross one knee over the other, removing my shoe and sock to be able to peel at the skin on my scarred heel. The sharp pain provides a twisted sense of stability. It anchors me amidst the chaos of a world falling apart around us.

A profound sense of isolation floods me like a bucket of cold water. It’s a loneliness so deep it feels as if we’re the only two people left on earth, despite the other passengers on the same bus. They have no idea what it’s like to be ensnared in theclutches of human trafficking—because I realize that’s exactly what Grimhill Manor was after reading the news articles. None of them know the torment of being imprisoned in a corrupt mental institution and subjected to relentless torture for months on end.

No one will ever be able to understand our pain, and that in itself is a loneliness impossible to comprehend.

I’ve lived in the darkness my entire life, never once finding reprieve from it.

Continuing to pick at the skin, the pain soothes my frayed nerves. Each touch makes the skin increasingly sensitive, yet I can’t bring myself to stop. Suddenly, I feel another hand on mine, causing my body to flinch. I peer up at Grey, whose eyes hold an intensity that makes my insides tighten, my lips parting slightly.

“Don’t fucking hurt yourself,” he growls in my ear, his grip firm as he places my hand in his lap where he refuses to let go.

The streetlamps outside cast intermittent light on Grey’s face. I run my hand through his shorter hair, newly cut and dyed—just as it was when I first met him at Dankworth Institute. God, it was such a long time ago now, and merely thinking back to all those moments when we stubbornly avoided our emotions brings a smile to my face.

An hour later, the bus pulls into another station. By now, Grey is lightly snoring beside me, his arm protectively slung over my shoulders. I glance out the window, where the sprawling silhouette of a large, modern building looms.

Some passengers shuffle wearily, gathering their belongings in a quiet rustle as they prepare to disembark. Only one lone figure steps onto the bus. Dressed in dark clothes with a hood shadowing most of his face, he pays the driver and moves forward.

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