Page 128 of Kept

“What does that mean?” I ask, and he snips away another piece. I glance down to where my newly-cut hair dangles to just below my shoulders, and away.

“There are people out there who make wigs,” he explains as he continues. “People lose their hair sometimes, because they’re ill or stressed, and they make wigs from the hair people donate.”

“I’d like that,” I say softly. “To do something good with it.”

“Then that’s what we’ll do.” Maverick carefully places the gathered hair on the bed. “How are you feeling?”

Everyone turns to me, and Ryder pauses his cutting.

My hand plays with a loose thread on the bedding beside me. “Tired,” I say quietly. “And sad.”

“And the statues?” Enzo asks. His eyes dart around the room, as if he can see them too.

“Still there,” I say heavily. Although they don’t feel as ominous right now. Almost… peaceful. But I’m fairly sure it’s not normal to see statues everywhere.

“Zella,” Maverick says. He takes a seat beside me, nudging hair out of the way as he takes the glass from me. “You mentioned that… he made them into statues.”

Enzo frowns. “Now isn’t the time,” he snaps, but I shake my head.

“Now is fine.” In halting words, I tell them what I found out, that night in the woods. Ryder and Maverick both look paler when I finish, but Enzo just purses his lips, saying nothing.

“Is he gone?” I ask him, and he nods.

“He’s gone, little prey. Nobody will ever find him.”

I blow out a breath. “Those people… nobody will ever know what happened to them.”

“We can look into it,” Maverick murmurs. His thumb rubs across my hand in soft strokes. “Find out if they had families.”

We could bring them home.

I hesitate. “My mother…”

He swallows. “What do you want to do?”

“We need to tell Emerson,” I say quietly. Then my head jerks. “Has he—?”

Maverick nods. “He’s called often to check on you. He knows a little of what happened.”

“Okay.” My heart breaks for him.

“Zella,” Maverick says my name carefully, like it’s breakable. “We can get you someone to talk to about this. There’s a lot to process.”

The refusal sticks in my throat.

Maybe it would help.

“Maybe. I’ll think about it.”

Ryder steps back and tilts his head. His face splits into a small, hesitant smile. “Well, damn. I think I missed my calling.”

My hand moves to my head. It feels so much lighter now, white gold hair covering my lap that I collect in a heap and dump on the bed next to me. Ryder holds out his hand and I take it, our fingers curling together as he leads me to the mirror leaning against the wall.

“What do you think?” he asks, and my eyes round as I lean forward.

My hair rests neatly on the edges of my shoulders, framing my face. When I shake it, I stagger, and Ryder grabs my arm. “Steady.”

“My head feels so light,” I say in wonder, and he huffs.

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