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Welcome to my home away from home,” Malachi says, voice low and theatrical as the elevator doors glide open with a soft hiss.

He steps into the foyer ahead of us, still carrying both our bags—my beat-up purple duffel and Charlie’s plain black one—despite my protests. I let him, even though my fingers itch to take them back. There’s something grounding in letting someone else shoulder the weight, just for a moment.

We step inside, and immediately, the air shifts.

The building isn’t near The Place. It’s farther uptown, tucked close to the glittering heart of Topside. Cleaner, quieter, more polished than anything in the Barrows. Every mile we’d driven here, the distance between where I came from and where I am now stretched thinner and thinner until it feels like I might snap.

The elevator was an omen—the badge swipe, the button panel with names instead of numbers.Casadecappaat the top. Malachi didn’t say it, but the message was clear: we’re not just guests. We’re out of our depth.

I knew it would be swanky. I didn’t expect this.

White marble sprawls underfoot, gleaming faintly in the dim light. High ceilings, clean lines, edges too perfect to have been shaped by daily life. I catch impressions more than details. Open spaces. Towering windows. A kind of hollow grandeur that looks beautiful but feels... sterile.

The door shuts behind us with a sound like a whisper locking us in.

Charlie’s gasp cuts through the hush. She dashes to the window, palms flattening against the glass.

“Holy cow! Mom, you can see the Barrows from here!”

Her voice is pure wonder, and for one dizzy second, I want to feel it too. To share that breathless awe. But it fades before it can settle. There’s a knot still lodged under my ribs, thick and heavy.

Someone broke into our home tonight.

Someone stood in the hallway, separated from Charlie by nothing but a door and a few feet of air.

I can still feel the burn in my muscles from dragging the chest against the door. Still feel the throb in my scraped knuckles. I keep replaying it—the scrape of feet outside, the whispered hush of terror Charlie tried so hard to hold in.

I lied to her. Told her everything would be fine when I knew very well it could go badly.

We’re here now. We’re safe.

But the cracks in my sense of safety don’t patch easily.

Malachi’s voice cuts through again, smoother now. “Come. I’ll show you a better view.”

He presses a point on the glass wall, and a section slides open into a narrow balcony fifteen stories up. Without hesitation, he steps out onto it, perching casually on the railing like it’s nothing.

My stomach knots at the sight.

Charlie looks at me, her eyes huge. Hopeful.

“Can I, Mom? Please?”

My mouth dries. Hasn’t she experienced enough danger tonight? I glance from her, to the gaping city below, to Malachi’s outstretched hand.

He catches my hesitation instantly. His gaze meets mine—steady, sure.

“I won’t let anything happen to her.”

It’s not just a reassurance. It’s a vow. One he speaks as easily as breathing.

I nod, barely. “Be careful, please.”

Charlie beams and runs to him, throwing her arms around the safe side of the railing, breath fogging against the chill night air. Her laugh lifts into the darkness—bright, unburdened.

Malachi watches her with a look I can’t quite name. Something fierce and soft all at once.

Then he turns that look on me.