Page 31

She doesn’t get to choose how this ends.

Because Seanna Darling may be the fire…

ButI am her Ruin.

Chapter 14

Seanna

Thecabinissilentwhen I get back. Too silent.

The kind of silence that feels like it’s holding its breath. Like it knows something I don’t.

No gifts tonight. No little boxes and envelopes on the doorstep. But after this morning’s polaroids—my face frozen in sleep from a camera I never heard clicking—tonight’s silence doesn’t feel like safety.

It feels like a fucking trap.

They’ve already proven they don’t need to knock when they want to say hello. Don’t care about doors or boundaries when they want inside. They just slip in like a thought I can’t shake and leave like they were never there at all.

The only proof is the way my heart won’t slow down every time I walk into a room.

I slam the door behind me harder than I need to. Let it echo through the bones of the cabin. Let them know I’m not scared—just pissed. My keys clatter against the counter, and I move through the space on autopilot. Kitchen. Living room. Bedroom. Bathroom.

All clear.

Which means absolutely nothing.

Paranoia used to be a professional edge. Now? It’s just who I am. Wired into me like muscle memory. Like breathing.

I’m exhausted. My body aches, my brain won’t shut off, and tomorrow I have to dance for Cruz and pray he doesn’t smell the gasoline I’ve poured all over this cover. One wrong move and I burn.

But I’ve always liked fire.

I strip off my clothes and step into the shower. The water hits like a punch—hot enough to scald, loud enough to drown out the noise in my head. I brace my hands against the tile, steam curling around me like smoke. If only it could burn away the tension clawing under my skin.

But it doesn’t. Because even here—especially here—he lingers.

Ruin.

His messages play on repeat, embedded behind my eyelids like a goddamn virus. Always watching. Always waiting. He speaks like he knows me. Like we’re already in this together. Like every twisted thought in my head has a matching echo in his.

And the worst part? Some of what he says doesn’t feel wrong.

That pisses me off more than anything.

I towel off, throw on a black shirt and underwear, and crawl into bed. The sheets are cool. The house is dark.

But none of it matters.

Sleep isn’t something I fall into anymore—it’s something I fight for. And tonight, I win.

For a while.

Then—something shifts.

My body jerks awake, lungs refusing to pull in air.

Because I’m not alone.