Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 81887 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 409(@200wpm)___ 328(@250wpm)___ 273(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81887 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 409(@200wpm)___ 328(@250wpm)___ 273(@300wpm)
She smiles faintly. “Bonding over mutual hatred.”
“Something like that.” I don’t tell her about the other things we discovered we had in common. The darkness that recognized itself in each other. The way we both learned to survive on an island that eats its young.
A knock at the door makes us both jump. Three quick taps, then two slow ones. I recognize the pattern—Damiano’s, from years ago when we used to meet in secret.
“It’s him,” I say, moving to the door.
When I open it, Damiano stands there, looking exhausted. His clothes are dirty, with dark stains.
“It’s done,” he says simply, stepping inside.
I close the door behind him, throw the deadbolt. “Everyone gone?”
He nods. “Told them Briar wasn’t feeling well. That her condition was acting up. Most people were drunk enough not to question it.” He looks past me to where Briar sits by the fire. “You okay?”
Her nod is unconvincing.
“The body?” I ask quietly.
“Buried in the center of the maze. Under the west corner of the gazebo.” He runs a hand through his hair, which has come partly loose from its tie. “It’s shallow for now. I had to work fast. We’ll need to go back tomorrow and do it right, dig deeper when there aren’t so many people around. I’ll plant specific things over it, too—things that grow quickly and help with... decomposition.”
The matter-of-fact way he says it should be disturbing, but instead I find it reassuring. Damiano has always been thorough.
“His phone?” I ask.
“Destroyed. Buried separately.”
He nods, then moves toward Briar, crouching in front of her like I did earlier. “I brought something for you.” He withdraws a small paper package from his pocket. “Herbs. For shock and pain. It will help you sleep.”
She takes it, her fingers brushing his. “Thank you.”
Looking at them both—Damiano with his dirt-smudged clothes and Briar with her bruised neck and borrowed clothes—I’m struck by how surreal this all is. Twenty-four hours ago, we were strangers. Now we’re bound together by blood and secrets.
Damiano glances down at himself, grimacing at the dark stains on his clothes and the dirt caked under his fingernails. “I need to clean up.”
“You know where everything is,” I say, my tone neutral despite the memories my words evoke. “There should be enough hot water left for a quick rinse. I’ll grab you some clothes.”
He nods gratefully, the exhaustion evident in the slump of his shoulders. “Thanks.”
“It’s late.” I glance at the clock on the wall. Nearly 3 AM. “We all need sleep if we’re going to pull this off tomorrow.”
Damiano nods. “I should get back after I clean up. Make sure everything at the estate is secure.”
“You can stay,” I offer, surprising myself. “The couch is comfortable enough.” I nod toward Briar. “She shouldn’t be alone tonight anyway.”
“I can make my own decisions,” Briar says with strength. She sits up straighter, pulling the blanket around her shoulders like armor. “And I’d prefer you both stay. I get a say in this.”
She flicks her gaze between us, the shock from earlier replaced by something steadier, more resolute. The fragile girl I carried through the forest is finding her backbone again, piece by piece.
“Of course.” Damiano’s words are gentler than I’ve heard in years. It’s his tone with her. Soft. Different than how he’s ever spoken to me. “Whatever you want.”
“What I want is for us to figure out what happens next,” she says. “And not to be alone with... with what I did.”
“Fair enough,” I say. “Briar, you take the bed. Damiano, you’ve got the couch.”
I glance toward my bed—a simple platform frame with a decent mattress pushed against the far wall of the container. It looks suddenly small and exposed in the open-plan space.
Damiano starts to argue, but I hold up a hand. “This isn’t a debate. I’ve slept in worse places than my own floor.” To emphasize the point, I grab the sleeping bag from the storage trunk at the foot of my bed and unroll it near the wood stove.
Briar looks like she might protest, too, but fatigue wins out. She nods weakly and moves toward the bed, sinking onto the edge of the mattress.
“There’s extra blankets in that trunk,” I tell Damiano, pointing. “Help yourself.”
He nods, his expression softening for a moment. “Thank you.”
“Yeah, well.” I shrug, uncomfortable with the gratitude. “Just don’t hog all the blankets.”
That gets me a small smile from Briar, which feels like a victory.
I pour the rest of the hot water from the kettle into a mug and hand it to Briar.
“For the herbs,” I explain. “Something tells me you don’t swallow them dry.”
She adds the powder from Damiano’s paper package to the tea. The earthy smell fills the small space.
“Drink it all,” Damiano tells her. “It will help with the pain and help you sleep.”
She does, grimacing slightly at the taste but finishing it anyway. Within minutes, her eyelids are drooping where she sits on the edge of the bed. She’s barely conscious as she curls onto her side, pulling the comforter around her.