Page 94 of Bound By Crimson

Chapter Ninety-Four

Preparing for Freedom

She sat in the attic long after the last granola bar was gone.

The wrappers lay beside her, empty, crumpled like the tension in her chest.

The water bottles were half-drained. Her stomach no longer twisted, but her thoughts still did.

She leaned her head back against the beam, staring at the attic ceiling.

Is he at the wall tonight?

Grayson.

She hadn’t heard his voice in what felt like forever.

Does he wonder if I changed my mind? If I made it out? If I’m still alive?

She hadn’t even seen his face—just a voice through stone.

And yet she trusted him more than anyone.

Is that stupid? Or the smartest thing I’ve ever done?

She curled up on a pile of old clothes near the window.

Sleep came in fragments.

But it came.

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The morning light hit her face gently.

She blinked against it, groggy but alert .

Today.

It was today.

She sat up slowly, stretching out her sore limbs. Her neck ached. Her back, too.

But there was something new in her.

Focus.

She spent the morning searching.

The attic had more than secrets. It had supplies.

She found an old satchel under a cedar chest and dusted it off.

Then she searched every drawer, every box.

Trinkets. Designer scarves and silver hairpins.

Things that looked expensive. Lightweight. Sellable.

She packed them carefully.

A folded blanket.

A pair of boots.

One extra bottle of water from the night before.

Then, at the bottom of one of the drawers, buried beneath old linens, something caught her eye—a velvet-lined box, still latched. Inside, more necklaces—some tangled, some broken, some gleaming like they hadn’t been touched in years. She added them to the bag without hesitation.

Something fell from under the tangle of necklaces.

A folded note.

She picked it up, smoothing the aged paper flat with her fingers.

Eden—

You will learn to love me. I promise.

—M.

Her breath caught.

Just one letter.

Is this my father?

She stared at it for a moment longer—then folded it sharply and tossed it into the satchel.

She’d deal with it later.

She moved quietly, methodically .

She caught her reflection in an antique mirror. She hadn’t looked at herself in so long, she hadn’t noticed the dark circles under her eyes, the dry, dull hair.

She was pale. Thin. A ghost of herself. And that made her angry.

A thought jumped to her mind.

What would Grayson think of me?

She pushed the thought away. Tonight was about getting her and Noah out.

Tonight, she would move fast.

But now—she prepared.

She zipped the satchel closed and slid it beside the attic wall, hidden in shadow.

Whatever came next, she wouldn’t face it unprepared.

Tonight is the night.