Page 56 of Bleed the Shadows

My mom seemed better, more like herself, and my dad was busy preparing the holiday menu at Oak & Reed, the restaurant where he worked. Olivia and Simon hadn’t been home — they both had a lot of extracurriculars — but my parents assured me they were both doing fine.

Life was moving on, and as I headed to the loft after our visit, I couldn’t help wondering if I was the only one still thinking about June.

Obsessing, you mean.

It’s not obsessing for wanting Ethan Todd to pay for what he did to you.

Ethan Todd didn’t kill me.

I know that, but Chris wouldn’t have done it if he hadn’t been sucked into Ethan Todd’s world.

Are you sure about that? Sure enough to take someone’s life?

I didn’t answer, and a few seconds later I heard June’s voice again.

If it hadn’t been Ethan, it would have been someone else, M.

I ignored her and parked my car in the loft’s lot. I wasn’t up for an argument with June about Ethan Todd.

I was on my way to the door when I spotted the yellow dog who’d been lurking around the loft. He sat at the corner of the building and started wagging his tail when he saw me.

“Hi there, boy.” I bent down and he trotted over with a big goofy grin. I stroked his head and scrubbed at his neck. “How are you today? Are you hungry?”

He sat back and looked up at me.

“I’ll take that as a yes. Hang on.”

I used the code to open the door and reached inside for the metal bowls, a bottle of water, and the dog food I’d been keeping downstairs.

He panted when he saw the dog food.

“Good boy,” I said when he waited for me to fill the bowls with food and water. “You have such good manners.” I stepped back. “Go ahead.”

He trotted over and started wolfing down the food. “Bon appetit.”

I wanted to bring him inside, give him a bath and a brush, but I had a feeling the Butchers wouldn’t love having a stray dog in their expensive place.

He was still eating when I went inside. Poe wasn’t in his ground-floor studio, and I headed upstairs to the second floor.

It was quiet there too. The Butchers must be out.

I turned the oven on to preheat a casserole I’d prepared earlier in the week and headed for my room to shower and change. But when I got there, I was met not with the calm, minimalistic oasis I was used to but with a stack of boxes in various colors piled in front of the bed.

I stopped in my tracks. “What the…?”

I looked around, half expecting someone to appear to explain. When no one did, I approached the boxes and saw that they were labeled with names I only recognized from reality TV and influencer videos on fashion week.

Dolce, Ferragamo, Dior.

I dropped onto the carpet and lifted the lid on the black box printed with the Dolce label in elegant white lettering. There were miles of tissue paper, and under that, a silvery-white sleeveless satin dress, heavier than it looked and obviously well made.

I checked the label and was surprised to find that it was in my size.

My phone buzzed from the pocket of my jeans.

It was a text. From Bram.

Will you have dinner with me Saturday night?