Page 52 of Splitting Secrets
This is why I keep my thoughts to myself.
Raze goes silent, both physically and mentally. He slows to a stop and I lift my head to look out the window just as we’re backing into the last driveway on the left. Ava, Beatrix, and Jonah sit up with me, and we watch as the garage door fills our view from the rear window, red brake lights glowing against the white metal door. The hot exhaust fills the crisp, winter air in foggy plumes, nearly blocking our view entirely.
My stomach tightens in dread as he shifts into park, and everything around us goes dark again as he lets off the brake pedal.
I can feel the nervous anticipation wafting off the others in strong waves. Their fear is something I’ve grown accustomedto sensing, but this uncertainty dancing alongside it is almost worse.
Raze has kept his word so far, feeding and clothing us as he sorts out whatever supposedly needed attention before we could meet with this so-called rebellion. Our conversations feel more open and genuine than they ever have. But full trust is impossible when he’s fooled me once before. The possibility that we could be walking into a house full of Midnight Syndicate members ready to slit our throats still looms overhead.
The worst part is that we have no choice. There’s nowhere else for us to go.
We wait for Raze to climb out of the driver’s seat before allowing ourselves to take in our location. It appears to be a regular, suburban neighborhood. No rebel flags or barbed wire.
The back hatch opens, cool air immediately blasting our faces. None of us move, though.
“Put your hoods up,” he commands after a weighted moment, realizing none of us really knows what to do.
We obey without a fight, each of us sharing one final look before we cover our faces. I scoot out first, and then Ava follows. Beatrix and Jonah get out together, their hands interlocked. We follow Raze’s dark figure on the cement path wrapping around the side of the garage, rounding the corner where a door sits closed on the side.
Raze avoids making eye contact with me, which only makes me feel worse. I’ve managed to ostracize myself from all four of them in the span of ten minutes. He waits until we’re gathered in a semicircle around him to knock. When he does, it’s to a melodic beat that’s clearly been rehearsed.
We only have to wait a few seconds before the door swings open.
“Raze,” a short, older woman cries in greeting. She wraps her arms around his waist and pulls him close.
“I’m fine,” he mumbles, running his palms along the woman’s curly hair.
The rest of us cautiously hang back, still not convinced we’ll receive the same welcome. The thought of being trapped back in those dungeons is enough to have me widening my stance, readying myself for a fight I’d likely never win. Until a man appears around the corner, brows lifted as he approaches me.
“You look just like your father,” the man muses. I can only stare back, unsure how to respond to that. Is it a good thing? When no one else says anything, he waves us in, his mouth blooming into a full smile. “Come on in. Get out of the cold.”
Once again, I step in first and the others follow. We keep our hoods up and huddle together in the center of the empty garage as the woman closes the door and latches three separate locks, then wedges a chair beneath the knob. When she’s finished with securing our only exit out of here—a thought that sends my anxiety soaring—she steps up to Raze and cups her palm against his cheek. He bends forward, planting a kiss on her crown as she mumbles something inaudible, and then he straightens back up.
So, those two are oddly friendly.
The man drags his feet toward another door and talks over his shoulder. “We’ve got coffee, water, and hot cocoa. Quinn whipped up a stew in case you’re hungry.”
Raze hums his approval, tucking his chin to his chest. The man opens the door and walks inside, and we’re hit with a blast of warm air and a delicious, savory smell. Unlike the dark garage, the home is lit up with soft, glowing lights.
Ava, Beatrix, and Jonah are silent behind me as we follow the others through a mudroom and into the kitchen. My muscles are coiled up, ready to strike at any given moment if something appears the slightest bit off.
But it all looks . . . normal.
Not some dark slaughterhouse. Not a torture chamber.
Just a sweet family home. The walls are littered with framed photos spanning years and shelves of books in all different genres.
Raze ushers us forward, his expression tight. When I look over my shoulder at him, he raises his brow, but doesn’t open the line to communicate his thoughts. Instead, he steps around us to open the cupboard closest to the sink and pulls down a stack of bowls. I trace his steps as he carries them to the stove, where there’s a lidded pot with a ladle sticking out of it.
I wish more than anything that we could have a minute alone so I can make things right again.
Quinn breaks off in the opposite direction, taking her seat on the far side of a long family table.
“I haven’t introduced myself,” the man points out, pulling our attention back toward the kitchen. “My name is Theo Willowmane.”
“Nice to meet you, Theo,” Ava finally says, her sweet voice the opposite of the speculation I recognize buzzing around her. “Willowmane...That’s a Viridian name.”
Theo places his hand across his chest, his smile faltering. “That it is.”
