Page 10 of Branded Souls (Ember Hollow Romance #3)

I was mortified when I felt the tears rising—hot and pressing. My nails dug harder into the soft leather of my bag. “How can you—” My voice broke. “How can you be so nice to me?”

Ash’s eyes widened. “What do you mean?” He sounded genuinely confused.

I glanced up at the ceiling, terrified those tears fighting to be shed would win.

“I left you,” I squeaked. “I told you I would be back for you and then I just…disappeared. I had thought—hoped—that when you turned eighteen you might contact me. I never changed my number. But when you didn’t… I assumed you hated me.”

The words hung heavily in the air. I was too much of a coward to look back down as he faced the truth of what I’d done.

“Skye.”

When he said my name, it wasn’t with the malice I deserved. It was almost soft. Gentle.

My gaze snapped to his from the sheer shock of it. His expression was…sad.

“I don’t blame you for what he did.”

The words hit me square in the chest. My heart squeezed.

“I don’t understand how you couldn’t,” I whispered. “You probably should.”

His jaw hardened. “No.” He shook his head. “I won’t let him take more away from me.”

The tears burned again, and I lost the fight with a few as they slid down my cheek. I wiped them away hastily. “I’m so, so sorry.”

“I know.”

He reached for me, and I grabbed hold of his hand. His was warm, and so, so big as he wrapped it around mine. I was shaking, and he was steady.

“I should’ve come back for you. I tried, but I should’ve tried harder,” I said, voice on the verge of a sob.

He shrugged, but didn’t let go of my hand. “Don’t. It’s over. It doesn’t matter anymore.”

I swallowed the lump constricting my throat. Was that true? Was it over? I doubted it. That wasn’t something someone simply “got over.” He was abandoned by me. His own sister.

But as I looked at him, I didn’t see the hate that I deserved. I didn’t see the sad, terrified eyes of the child who I had left with a monster.

I saw acceptance. Maybe even…relief?

I let out a long, unsteady breath. “You’re being too nice to me.”

Ash chuckled. “Nah, I’m not. I’m just not going to torture you any more than you’ve tortured yourself.”

I stiffened as the truth of that sunk in.

Not enough , a small voice whispered from the darkest parts of myself.

I looked away, but squeezed his hand in silent gratitude.

After a moment of silence, he asked, “So, what brought you back here?”

I glanced at him from the corner of my eyes.

“To this house, I mean,” he clarified. “I never expected you to come back here.”

Neither had I.

My attention shifted to the heavy bag in my lap. My pulse jumped as I let go of his hand and unzipped my bag. The whole reason I had come here in the first place, the Jane Doe.

“I had a question…” I started, sifting through the contents of my bag. It held my computer and camera and some papers I’d printed out into neat, organized files.

I met with Brandon Whize yesterday, getting as much information from him about Jane Doe and her bracelet as I could. But we’d come up woefully empty .

He barely knew more than what I already had from the files in the thumb drive.

She was a woman who wasn’t able to be identified for nearly thirty years.

She’d not only been stabbed, but her face had been badly beaten—so much so that dental records had been useless.

There hadn’t been any unique marks or tattoos.

Nothing to help the police find where she’d belonged.

I hadn’t been brave enough to look at the uncensored photos of the woman’s face, but Brandon assured me it wouldn’t be helpful in her identification.

I’d almost thrown up at the mere thought.

Finally, I found the folder I was looking for and slipped out an enlarged photo.

When I looked back up, Ash was watching me with patient curiosity.

I shifted in my seat, gripping the photo tight. I’d come here for some confirmation. I needed to make sure that I wasn’t misremembering something.

The photo was a close-up of Jane Doe’s wrists. The bent wing of the bird charm stuck out between the cables that bound her. At least, that’s what I was convinced it was.

“What is it?” Ash’s frown sharpened.

“I—I need you to look at something for me.” I swallowed hard, a nervous sweat breaking out on my forehead.

I slapped the photo onto the tabletop before I chickened out. He looked down, confusion filtering through his eyes before they widened. My stomach sank.

He grabbed the photo, pulling it close to his face. He paled. “What is this, Skye?” he asked.

“Do you recognize anything?”

He looked back up at me, his brows drawing tight together. He glanced back down at the photo briefly before returning to me. “This looks like that thing you made for Mom…that bracelet? I remember you crying when I stepped on that silver bird thing you put on it.”

My chest tightened as his confirmation sunk in.

When I didn’t answer, he said my name again.

“What is this?” he demanded.

Exhaustion hit me hard, sinking down into my bones.

“Ash,” I said, my voice raw. “I don’t think our mother abandoned us.”