Page 107 of Creeping Lily

And somehow, I think he might just be planning to stick around long enough to do exactly that.

I push the empty plate away, leaning back in my chair. Titan’s still drinking his coffee, his fingers wrapped around the mug like he’s in no rush to move. The smell of it drifts over the table, dark and bitter.

“Thanks for breakfast,” I say, because my mother raised me with manners—even if I’m thanking my kidnapper.

Titan doesn’t answer right away. He sets his mug down, the ceramic tapping softly against the wood, and studies me with that unreadable gaze that makes me feel like I’m under a microscope.

“We’ll be leaving soon,” he says finally.

The words land like a stone in my stomach. “Leaving? To where?”

His eyes narrow slightly, like he’s deciding how much he wants to tell me. “Somewhere safer than here.”

I glance toward the window. The forest outside looks endless, foggy and damp in the morning light. “I thought you said no one knew this place existed.”

“They don’t,” he replies, his voice flat. “But places like this don’t stay safe forever. People talk. Tracks get noticed.”

I rest my hands in my lap, trying to keep my voice even. “So where are we going?”

He leans back, one arm draped over the back of his chair. “Somewhere you won’t like.”

I blink at him. “You’re terrible at reassuring people.”

“I’m not here to reassure you, Lily,” he says, his tone soft but unyielding. “I’m here to keep you alive.”

The way he says it—calm, like it’s just a fact—does something to me. A chill runs along my spine, part fear, part… something else I don’t want to name.

“Am I allowed to pack my own bag, or is this another one of those ‘trust me’ situations?” I ask, my voice sharper than intended.

“We travel light, Lily. It’s safer that way,” he says, finishing his coffee and standing.

I exhale through my nose, caught somewhere betweenannoyance and resignation. He doesn’t wait for me to answer, already moving toward the door like the conversation is over.

And maybe it is—for him.

But for me? Every mile we put between this cabin and wherever we’re headed is another step deeper into a life I never agreed to.

55

TITAN

Lily’s breathing reaches me from across the cabin—quick, uneven, almost catching on itself. The place is so small the air seems to fold in on us, every sound pressing close, so intimate I can hear her draw each inhale like it’s mine.

Her eyes are fixed on the object in my hands, pupils wide, lips slightly parted. She’s seen it at last—the thing I’ve kept hidden until now. The ledger. The one book that could tear down an empire, brick by brick, name by name.

I turn it over slowly, my fingers brushing over the cracked red leather. Time hasn’t been kind to it. The cover is blotched in patches where the sun baked it or rain gnawed at its edges, fading it from crimson to something like dried blood. It smells faintly of mildew an old scent that’s full of secrets.

My mind flickers back to Larry Shine. His face when I slid the blade against his wife’s throat—how the light in his eyes went wild, not with grief but with the sharp awareness that I wasn’t bluffing. The words had fallen out of him in a frantic tumble, the location of the ledger spilling from his mouth like aconfession. He knew it wouldn’t save him. Not from me. Not from whatever waited for him after I was done.

He’d hidden it in the filter cavity of the range hood above his greasy stove, probably thinking grease stains and neglect would keep it safe. One glance through its pages and I knew I was holding the real thing. The weight of it in my hand was proof enough.

I slit his throat clean and quick, leaving an angry red line that sagged open before his chin sank to his chest. I couldn’t linger—every second put more distance between me and Lily. Even knowing she couldn’t get far, the thought of her gone churned something dark and ugly inside me.

“Are you going to open it?” she asks now, her voice soft but steady. She comes closer.

I meet her eyes. I’m thinking of the names inside, the bodies in unmarked graves, the monsters who’ll wish they’d never crawled out from under their rocks. Closure for families. Justice for some. Hell for others.

“I need you to read it to me.”