Page 21 of All Ghosts Aren’t Dead (The Forgotten #1)

BLUE

H e’s going to send me away.

The thought was hiding under my ribs, small at first, but then it pressed harder. Every blink made it sharper.

Hotter.

Meaner.

My breath caught in my throat like there was something sour in there, like it knew I was bad for thinking it.

Bad. Bad. Bad.

He’s going to send me away.

The common room buzzed around me. Rune was flicking a lighter on and off, eyes half-lidded like the flame was telling him secrets.

Bay had a lollipop stuck in his cheek and one sock halfway off, scrolling through something on his tablet.

Miller had a book open on his knee, but he kept glancing at me, eyes sharp, mouth twitching like he already knew.

Bad. Impure. Broken.

My toes curled, and I wavered in the doorway, fingers tugging at my ears until they started to burn.

One. Two. Three. Four.

One. Two. Three. Four.

“Bluebird!” Bay yelled, kicking his feet. “Did you give your daddy your note?”

The note was in my hand, warm from my palm.

Ruined .

I’d ruined it.

It was all crumpled now, creased and damp with my sweat.

Dear Daddy, I am proud to belong to you.

I’d written it that morning and rewritten it twice since. I hadn’t given it to him yet. I was going to. I’d folded it neat, even practiced how I’d walk into his office, quiet but proud, the way he liked.

Maybe he’d frame it like the other one.

Maybe he’d tell me I was good.

I’d made it all the way to his door.

The hallway had been quiet enough I could hear my heartbeat. His office door was shut, but the light was on. A slice of yellow poured through the crack at the bottom, reaching just far enough to touch the tips of my toes.

I stood there, gripping the note in both hands so I wouldn’t fidget, and that’s when I heard it.

My name.

Blue .

It didn’t sound right—not soft, or kind, or safe.

It hit my chest wrong.

My knees locked. My eyes stung. I stopped breathing just to hear better, but I almost wished I hadn’t.

The crash that followed was sharp enough to make me flinch.

Maybe slamming.

Maybe breaking.

Maybe both .

It was the kind of noise that made my stomach twist and the air feel so thick it couldn’t fit in my lungs. The hallway got smaller, as if the walls were folding inward, squeezing and squeezing me down to nothing.

Samuel sounded… mad .

At. Me.

“Bluebird! How’d it go?”

The buzz of Bay’s voice made me cringe—too bright, too loud.

Too much. Too much. Too much.

I blinked at him and tugged at my sweater. It was too tight. My ears were extra hot now, and my fingers felt itchy.

“Hey.” Rune tilted his head from the couch. “You good?”

“Blue?” Miller stood. “Hey. Hey—sit down a second, yeah?”

No. No. No.

“Don’t touch me. You can’t touch me!”

The panic rose fast, boiling behind my ribs. I gulped against the ragged breaths that scraped the inside of my throat raw.

It’s not working.

My lungs still wouldn’t open. I clawed at my collar again, pulling and pulling until it stretched and scratched at my neck like it hated me.

Everyone hates you, Sinner.

“Hey, hey—Blue,” Miller said again. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”

I wasn’t.

Bay slid off the couch, the lollipop forgotten, his expression moving toward worry. “Don’t—don’t touch him,” he whispered to Rune. “Just talk.”

“I’m not gonna touch him,” Rune murmured. “But shit, he’s not breathing right.”

“I am,” I rasped, except it wasn’t true. The air caught halfway down and stuck there, thick and choking. My chest heaved, but nothing filled it.

“Blue?” Bay asked again.

“He’s mad at me.” I stumbled backward. “Mad. Mad. Mad.”

I turned and shoved the closet door open, knocking a broom sideways in the process.

The space was small, lined with shelves, and the scent of dust and wood polish filled the air.

I dropped to my knees and crawled inside, the darkness pressing into my skin.

I curled in the corner, head against the wall, sweater sleeves over my hands, tugging and tugging until my fingers went numb.

If you can’t kill the sin, we’ll bury it for you.

I hunched tighter into myself and pressed my fist into my thigh. Hard. It wasn’t enough, so I did it again…

And again.

And again.

One soft thud, and then another, until the guilt curdled in my stomach and made it worse.

“Blue,” Bay said quickly, voice pitching up like panic was catching in his throat, too. “Hey—don’t do that. Please don’t do that.”

I hit harder.

“Bluebird—stop—who’s mad at you? Who?” Rune’s voice this time.

I didn’t answer.

Bay dropped into a crouch outside the closet door, not touching, just close enough for me to hear the shape of his worry. “You mean Sam?” he asked gently. “Sam’s not mad at you, Blue. No fucking way. He could never be mad at you. You haven’t done anything wrong.”

My breath wheezed in and stuck.

“No,” I choked. “No no no no no?—”

Bay flinched but didn’t move. “What? What is it?”

“I heard him,” I whispered. “I went to his office. I had the note. I was gonna give it to him, but he said my name, and then the sound—he broke something. He—he slammed something. He was angry.”

“Bluebird—”

“He never breaks things. He’s always quiet. Always calm. That’s how I know it was me. It’s always me when people get mad.”

Bay’s face fell. “Oh, baby…”

I pressed my forehead to my knees, the tears finally hot against my cheeks. “I ruined it. I made it worse. I heard it and I stayed. I shouldn’t have stayed. I wanted him to be proud, and now he’s not.”

“Blue.” Another voice now. Simon . “Hey, sweetheart. Listen to me. Whatever you think happened, you didn’t ruin anything. Sam is not mad at you.”

“He is,” I breathed. “He is, he is, he is?—”

“You’re scared. I know. But listen to me, Blue, you haven’t done anything wrong. You don’t have to sit here and hurt yourself. Let’s go see him, yeah? He’s probably worried sick right now.”

“No!” I shoved further into the corner of the closet, voice sharp and cracking. “No, I already went to see him, and it was bad. Bad, bad, bad. ”

“Okay.” Simon’s voice dropped to a hush, and I could barely hear it through the blood in my ears. “Okay. I hear you.”

I rocked forward, fists balled against my thighs, breath rattling as the walls pushed in again.

“Go get him,” Simon said quietly. “Now.”

The room outside quieted, voices muffled into a sense of urgency. I couldn’t hear the words, just the rush of them—someone moving fast, the slam of a door swinging open, and footsteps disappearing down the hall.

I stayed curled in the dark.

Time got weird in closets. It didn’t move forward or back. It just sat there, pressing into your lungs until every breath tasted like dust and punishment.

It’s what you deserve.

A shadow blocked the light, but I didn’t look up.

I knew it was him.

Daddy.

Not because of footsteps, but because everything inside me went still, like my body had been waiting for this moment just to exhale.

He crouched in the doorway, filling the space with something steadier than oxygen. Slowly, his skin met mine, knuckles dragging across my jawline before he pressed the pad of his thumb against a tear and wiped it away.

"Blue baby," he whispered, voice broken around the edges. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry for scaring you.”

Another tear spilled.

“It was my fault,” I sniffled. “I made you angry. I ruined it. I ruined it?—”

“No.”

He eased forward, arms sliding around me—one under my knees, one behind my back. I didn’t even fight it. He hoisted me into his chest like I weighed nothing, like I wasn’t a mess of panic and shaking limbs.

My head dropped to his shoulder.

“You didn’t ruin anything,” he whispered, mouth near my ear. “You heard something you weren’t meant to hear, but it wasn’t about you. It was never about you, baby.”

My hands curled in his shirt. “I—I don’t understand. I heard my name. You were mad.”

His grip tightened.

“Not at you,” he murmured. “It was something Ben said—something about the program, about using you. I lost my temper, baby, but it wasn’t your fault. You’re a good boy.”

I sobbed once—sharp and quick—and then buried my face in his chest like maybe I could hide it there.

His hand swept along my back, and then he stood with me in his arms like I wasn’t trembling or damp with sweat.

Like I was something precious.

I kept my eyes closed, cheek against his collarbone as we moved up the stairs and past the long window that always caught the moonlight.

He nudged his bedroom door open with his shoulder and stepped inside. The light was low, golden, and soft. He didn’t speak, just sat down on the edge of the bed with me in his lap, my legs draped over his thighs, and his arms wound tight around me like they didn’t know how to let go.

I didn’t want him to. Not ever.

“You’re not mad because of me?”

“Blue baby,” he said softly, brushing his thumb at the corner of my mouth. “Look at me.”

I did. Slowly. I was breathing now. Not perfect, but enough that my lungs had stopped burning.

“I need you to understand something.”

My fingers tugged at the edge of his shirt where it was wrinkled beneath my hand.

“I wasn’t mad because of you. I was mad for you.”

I blinked up at him. “I don’t know what that means.”

There was a pause, long enough that I thought he might not speak at all. He exhaled through his nose, and it ghosted warm against my temple.

“Your instructors have been reporting in,” he said finally. “Mei. Bishop. Hiro. Even Amir.”

I stilled.

“They’re all saying you’re ahead. You’re focused. Lethal. You don’t hesitate.”

My mouth tasted strange, like the letters I’d practiced were still stuck on my tongue. “That’s… bad?”

“Not bad, sweetheart,” he said. “Just tempting.”

I pulled back enough to see his face. “Tempting?”

“For men like Ben,” he muttered. “That means potential. He wants to put you in the field and test you.”

“What… kind of test? What would I do?”

His jaw tensed, just enough to flicker beneath the skin. “Intimidation. Backup on interrogations. They’d give you someone bad—someone who deserves it—and you’d make them pay.”

Oh .