Page 87 of Bound By Crimson

Chapter Eighty-Seven

The Ask

She didn’t go to the wall right away.

She sat on the edge of her bed for what felt like hours, staring at the floor, her hands clenched in her lap like she was holding something fragile.

What if he says no?

That was the thought that kept looping.

Not what if he tells someone.

Not what if this all backfires.

Just—

What if he doesn’t want to help?

He had no reason to.

He barely knew her.

He’d only ever heard her voice.

He didn’t know the weight she carried.

He didn’t know she’d been branded by blood.

He didn’t know that the walls she spoke through were the same ones trying to bury her alive.

She stood up. Sat down again.

Wrapped her robe tighter.

Her heart had been pounding since sunset.

You have to do this.

For Noah .

For herself.

For every version of her that had been too afraid, too broken, too polite to ask for anything.

She needed to be brave now.

What if he’s not there?

What if you’re already too late?

That one stopped her cold.

He said he’d only be in town for a month.

It was almost over.

She closed her eyes and drew in a breath so deep it felt like it might shatter her ribs.

Then she left.

Quietly.

Down the hall.

Out the garden door.

Barefoot on the stone path.

The stones felt colder than usual tonight.

Sharper. Like they’d grown edges in the dark.

She walked slower than she meant to.

The distance to the wall felt longer—like it was pulling away with every step she took.

Her breath fogged the air in front of her.

When she finally reached the wall, she pressed her palm to the ivy-covered stone.

It was cold and slightly damp.

She leaned forward, resting her forehead against it, eyes cast down at the ground.

The earth smelled like moss and old rain.

She could feel her heart pounding in her throat.

“Hey. You’re late.”

Grayson’s voice cut through the quiet like light through fog.

She startled slightly. Swallowed hard.

“I wasn’t sure I was coming.”

“But you did,” Grayson said softly. “I’m glad.”

She stayed pressed to the wall.

She hadn’t even realized she was shaking until now.

Her fingers brushed along the ivy absently.

The cool leaves grounded her .

Now. Say it.

But the words stuck in her mouth like wet cotton.

Say it.

“Lyric?” Grayson’s voice softened. “Everything okay?”

She let the silence stretch—one second, then two, then five.

Then finally, she whispered:

“I need your help.”

There was a pause on the other side.

Stillness.

No movement. No sound. Just breath.

“Okay,” he said, voice lower now. “What do you need?”

She closed her eyes, pressed her cheek to the cold wall.

“To get out of here.”