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"I can only facilitate communication between the three of you," he continues. "I'd like you to try an exercise with me. Close your eyes."

I hesitate, then obey, the darkness behind my eyelids suddenly feeling vast and dangerous.

"Imagine a meeting room," Dr. Ezra's voice guides me. "Comfortable, safe. A round table where everyone can see each other. Equal space for everyone."

I try, but all I can picture is the empty kitchen where I'd been baking, the moment before I lost time. The pie dough half-rolled on the counter. The buttery cinnamon scent in the air. The afternoon light spilling across the marble.

"I can't." My eyes flash open. The office comes back into sharp focus---Dr. Ezra's concerned face, the rain-lashed window, the antique clock ticking away on the shelf. "I've tried all that before. I don't have time for this." I reach down and grab my purse.

"Time for what, Anna?"

I bite my tongue, tasting copper. I can't tell him about the man with the tattoo and the encrypted messages on his phone. About the danger I'm probably still in right now.

"For... starting over," I finish lamely.

Dr. Ezra sighs, removing his glasses to rub the bridge of his nose. Without them, he looks handsome, more humansomehow. "There are responsible therapeutic modalities we can explore for dissociative identity disorder, like the meditation and visualization we've already begun. We can work on building co-consciousness gradually. I know you're familiar with this approach---"

"It's too slow," I interrupt, my fingers twisting the strap of my purse. "I need help now."

"Anna," he says, replacing his glasses, "I'm also here for you if you just want to talk. It's important not to shut down your emotions. Whatever you're feeling---fear, grief, anger---it's valid."

I stand abruptly, my dress swishing around my knees. The storm outside matches the one raging inside me---violent, unpredictable, dangerous.

"I have emotions all right," I say, swinging my purse over my shoulder. "But I don't want to talk about them. I want tofeelthem."

His expression is maddeningly composed. "And how do you want to feel them, Anna?"

The truth burns on my tongue, begging to be released:I want to feel them with Domhnall. At the club. With him punishing me for my sins.

Instead, I head for the door, my heels silent on the thick carpet. "Thank you for your time, Dr. Ezra."

"Anna," he calls as my hand touches the doorknob. "Please be careful. Especially with this new alter. Don't push her away or antagonize her. Try to understand why she's emerged."

I pause, my back to him. "I know why she's emerged," I say softly. "To protect us. But that's the problem, don't you see? What Mads understood---what I understand now---is that sometimes the most loving thing you can do is leave."

I just don't know if I'm strong enough to do it without her.

I pull the door open and step into the hallway, the cool air washing over my flushed face. Behind me, I hear Dr. Ezra stand, the leather of his chair creaking in protest.

"Same time next week?" he asks.

I don't answer. I just keep walking, my heartbeat thundering in my ears, drowning out the storm.

In my mind, a voice that isn't mine whispers:You can't run from me. I live inside you.

And for the first time, I'm not sure if it's Mads or Red---or some part of me I've never acknowledged.

I just know I need to find Domhnall. I need his hands on me, around me, inside me. I need the sweet oblivion only he can give me---the perfect punishment for all my sins.

Because if I can't outrun what lives in my head, maybe I can burn it out instead.

TWENTY-SIX

DOMHNALL

I’m looseningmy tie the second I step inside the house, the silence hitting me like a physical force. Usually when I get home, Anna’s playing music—something gentle, classical, or those indie folk singers she’s discovered since coming back to me. The house breathes differently with her music—lighter, warmer.

But today there’s nothing. Just the hollow echo of my footsteps across the marble foyer and the soft tick of the grandfather clock from the study. Of course there’s nothing. She’s at the doctor’s. Dr. Ezra’s. The thought sends a fresh wave of irritation through me, the conversation from earlier replaying in my head.