Page 72 of Change

Food. I barely suppressed my shudder. “It’s not the basement. There’s other rooms.” I dug my fingernails into my arms. “It leads downstairs.”

“What’s downstairs?” Damen asked.

I swallowed back my rising nausea and pointed to another empty doorway perpendicular to the first. I couldn’t stop my finger from shaking, but my voice remained surprisingly calm. “You can also get to my room that way—there’s a long hallway that bypasses the rest of the house—but I don’t like going over there.”

I wasn’t going to either.

“You don’t need to go anywhere,” Titus reminded me. “This isn’t your home anymore.”

“And you have a room,” Damen chimed in. “Atourhouse.”

Their reassurances helped, but only slightly. Technically, I was living athishouse. But, still, their words were enough to pull me back from the edge, to keep the panic back so I could focus on my mission.

“This way.” I pushed past the men—though the double-doorway and into the forbidden part of the house. My skin still tingled, and my fingers were numb. I wasn’t about to go near that door, even with their support. There was a ringing in my ears as I stepped through hallways and rooms—barely aware of the distant way I described the places. And we were just about finished with the downstairs when, “Oh.”

The monologue died from my lips, and I froze, blinking into the lobby.

How had we made it this far already? The house had seemed bigger in my memories.

“Bianca?” Damen squeezed my hand, and the pressure snapped me out of my reverie.

“Oh…” I said again, raising my free arm and wiping the back of my wrist over my eyes. “T-this is where Mot… I saw Jonathon and Abigail for the first time. They were meeting Mr. Richards there.” I pointed to a door near the front of the lobby. “I was trying to sneak back in when J-J-Jason caught me here. He was a-angry at me again. W-we were fighting, and they c-came out to see what was going on.”

“Who’s Jason?” I jumped as Titus moved closer to me, crossing his arms as he narrowed his eyes at the door. “Don’t look surprised,” he continued. “You started shaking when you said his name.”

I… did?

I dropped Damen’s hand and pressed my hands to my cheeks. My skin was wet… but from what? Even now, it didn’t feel like I was crying. And why was it so cold?

“Who is he?” Damen repeated, voice deathly calm. “You’re not even this frightened of Eric Richards. But it sounds like you’ve interacted with him often—comfortable enough to fight him—was he one of the boys?”

“J-Jason?” My voice squeaked. “He’s…” Uncle Gregory and Bryce were watching with barely restrained looks of curiosity, but both seemed content to let Titus and Damen lead the questions. Somehow, instead of making me self-conscious, it felt supportive, and when I spoke next my voice was no longer unsteady. “He’s Mr. Richard’s son.”

Titus’s left eyebrow lifted and the temperature seemed to drop further. “He has ason?”

I pressed my fingertips to my lips. “Mr. Richards was teaching him to run the… business. They wanted to expand. He spent a lot of time with m-me for t-training…” My words trailed off at the darkening expressions around the room. “W-what?”

“Jason Richards?” Titus stepped forward, grabbing my hand. “How old was he?”

“N-no…” I looked between the two of them. “His last name was different. I don’t remember…” Why couldn’t I remember? It was right there, tickling along the edges of my recollection. “He’s probably your age?”

If anything, their expressions grew even more grim.

“W-what?” I asked again.

At first, they seemed hesitant to answer. Even Bryce and Uncle Gregory were exchanging uncomfortable, dark looks. The hair on the back of my neck stood up, and, for a moment, I was worried they’d fall back into their old routine. Damen would swoop in with some cryptic statement meant to help with—but failing at—keeping my curiosity at bay.

But this time, it was Damen who surprised me. He took Titus’s place as the dragon gave my hand one last squeeze and wrapped his fingers around my wrists. “Titus has been investigating a new human trafficking train in the area since last year,” he said, his voice somber. “He was brought in as a consultant when they ran low on leads, and I’ve been helping outside of my tasks with Gregory. But we haven’t had much luck. The leader of this ring is younger than others in the business—only twenty-three—and somehow manages to get away every time we get close. His name is Jason Patterson.”

The air was knocked from me, and I couldn’t hold back my lurching stomach. I barely had time to turn from the others, falling on my knees as I fell against a doorway on my right and threw up into what used to be the formal dining room.

Darkness cloaked my vision, and nothing existed outside of the all-encompassing need to purge this feeling.

My throat felt raw, a heavy sense of exhaustion had fallen over my limbs. Distantly, I heard talking. The boys were discussing something in heated voices over my head, but the ringing in my ears was too loud for me to make anything out.

Something pulled at my hair, and cold air rushed down the back of my neck as the suffocating heat of my scarf disappeared.

More voices, and then a warm hand brushed across my shoulder.