Page 130 of Jayson
“Keira,” I say softly.
She looks up. Blinks. Something in her posture stiffens—like she already knows I didn’t come in here to soothe her.
I sit beside her but keep just enough distance not to crowd her.
“There’s something I want to show you,” I say. “Only if you’re up for it.”
She nods slowly, guarded.
I pass her the photo.
She takes it with both hands. And then she goes still. Completely.
Her eyes lock onto the image, scanning every inch like it’s not a face but a battlefield. She doesn’t say anything. Just studies him like the answers she’s been chasing her whole life are buried beneath the surface of his skin.
Her fingers tremble. Not a little. A lot. The paper shivers with the weight of her grip, but she doesn’t loosen it.
I murmur her name. Once. Twice. Nothing breaks through. She’s locked in. Somewhere I can’t follow. Somewhere darker.
I want to take it from her, pull her out of it, lie to her if I have to—but I don’t. This is her moment. Her war.
I just sit there, aching quietly beside her.
Finally, her hands fall open. The picture drifts to the floor like a dead leaf.
She exhales a sound I wouldn’t call a breath.
“They called him the Ringmaster,” she whispers. Her voice is barely a thread. “That’s all I remember,” she adds after a beat. “I’ve been digging. Inside my head. Scraping at the edges. But it’s like someone closed the door and bolted it from the inside.”
I nod, gently pulling her into my arms. She comes without resistance. And then she breaks. Not softly or by any means prettily. Her whole body shudders against mine as sobs tear out of her. Deep, guttural, animal sounds. The kind of grief that doesn’t live in the throat but in the spine. In the bones.
I hold her tighter.
“I’ve got you,” I whisper, over and over. “No-one’s going to hurt you ever again.”
I don’t know how long we stay like that. Long enough for her sobs to slow, for her breath to steady against my chest.
Eventually, I pull back, just enough to meet her eyes.
“I have to go,” I say quietly. “Work. Some associates I need to meet.”
Her lips part, but she doesn’t speak. Just nods, hollow-eyed.
“You’re safe here,” I tell her again, more firmly now. “But don’t leave the house. Not for anything.”
Another nod.
I brush a strand of hair from her face. My thumb rests against her cheek a moment longer than it should. Then I stand.
As I move through the hallway, the tension follows me like smoke.
I pull out my phone, scroll to Lula’s contact, and tap out a message.
Can you ask Tayana if she’s available to sit with Keira? She’s locked something up tight. I think it’s time to help her open the door.
I hit send.
Then tuck the photo of Maddox into my jacket pocket.
