Page 22 of Flame
A battered door serves as the entrance, but it’s unlocked. Musty air tickles my nostrils as I feel through the dark until I find a hallway leading into a larger space. The first time I came here, a light had illuminated much of the enclosed area ahead, but now it’s pitch-black.
Something clatters as I stumble against it. I forge ahead until my hand meets a surface I assume to be a wall, and I gladly sink to the floor, bracing my back against it.
I keep as still as I can, listening for any other sound. If Branden is still on my trail, enclosing myself in here is a stupid course of action, but it’s one that I can’t seem to talk myself out of. Maybe because a persistent warning is echoing in my mind on repeat.You get there, and you wait for me.
I should still be running. Fighting. Or better yet, getting ahold of my parents somehow and telling them the truth—about everything.
A laugh escapes me, as if even my body knows what my brain can’t face. I won’t. I’ve spent too many years resisting those very actions—too many years obscuring the truth.
And as a result, no one would believe me. Hell, even I wouldn’t.
But Rafe did, a part of me whispers. He believed me without question, displaying a disgust for my circumstances that I’ve never had the energy to feel myself.
Is it genuine? Parsing over his responses, I can’t tell. For someone who claims to be so honest, he’s more guarded than not, displaying his real emotions only through layers at a time. And one fact remains painfully clear—I hardly know anything about him.
His true profession. His history with his uncle. His past.
Branden could be right. Rafe could have planted Faith’s hair clip. A good sister would want to believe as much.
Do I?
Rather than mull over the answer, I lean back against the wall, settling into the strange, darkened space. The building must be old, given the various creaking, cracking noises that form a backdrop to my own harsh breathing.
But soon, another noise joins the quiet cacophony—heavy, cautious footsteps.
