Page 183 of Their Arrangement

---

Pulled a knife.

Dropped it.

It skittered across the floor.

Loud. Wrong.

I picked it up. Pressed my back to the wall. Shaking. My hands. My knees. My voice. Something flickered under the front door.

A shadow.

No.

No no no no no?—

I ran to the couch.

Curled into the far corner.

Held the knife to my chest like a shield I didn’t know how to use.

My heartbeat was too loud.

Too wild.

The sound of blood in my ears drowned everything else.

Until—

The door shook.

Once.

Twice.

A third time.

Then—shattered.

And I screamed.

The sound echoed.

Splintered wood.

My scream.

Then silence.

No footsteps. No rush of movement. Just cold air bleeding in through the jagged break in the door.

I didn’t move. Couldn’t. The knife was still clutched in my hand, but my grip had loosened. My fingers ached from how tightly I’d held it. My lungs refused to expand.

I stayed frozen in the corner of the couch, blinking against the tears that blurred everything.

Then—

Memory.

---