Page 26

C hapter 26

Naya

The scent of brisk leaves lingers in the twilight air, mingling with the distant hum of traffic as the car moves forward with a bump across the gravelly road. We’ve been driving for hours, and my body is aching for the need to stretch out—sore from the cramped space we’ve been cooped up in.

An uncomfortable silence has settled thickly in the car, making me want to fling open the door and jump out as we speed down the highway. The tension coils tighter with each second, especially under the dark gaze of the driver, who keeps shooting glances at me through the rearview mirror. His jaw is clenched in clear frustration—Draven, as Everlee introduced him ten minutes into the drive, much to his dismay.

The way he keeps looking at me, his knuckles bone-white from gripping the steering wheel, makes it painfully obvious we’re not welcome here. I fidget in the back seat, my leg bouncing restlessly.

Home—Everlee had said.

I’m no longer sure what that word even means.

Lost in thought, I barely notice when the car swerves off the highway and onto a gravel road. The forest envelops us on both sides, its trees losing their vibrant green color, transforming into a flurry of orange. Rain pours down outside, leaving the car splashing water against its sides as we continue. I stare in wonder, the forest stretching endlessly and creating a sense of isolation.

When the car finally pulls to a stop in front of a larger cottage, my eyes are immediately drawn to its unique, triangular shape. The walls are black, adorned with dark green accents that help it blend into the surrounding nature. Like taken out of a fairytale, I’m breathless as I stare captivated at the beauty before me.

“We’re here,” Draven murmurs, gently shaking Everlee awake, her head leaning against the window.

Grey looks out the window, biting his lip while scrutinizing the place. As if every place is a danger, he meticulously observes them, making sure no stones are left unturned. Getting out of the car, Draven opens the door for Everlee as she sleepily steps out, nearly stumbling. He’s there, catching her, and the look in his eyes softens when he meets hers, far from the persona he’s shown us earlier.

Both Grey and I exit the vehicle at the same time, hands finding each other’s within seconds. Together, we take in the cottage looming before us. It’s far from civilization, much like Grimhill Manor and the dollhouse were, surrounded by an eerie forest that called to you at nights, wanting to lure you in. Only this forest feels safer—much more cozy, somehow. The birds chirp in the distance, creating a symphony that I could listen to for hours.

“Come here,” Draven grumbles as he opens the trunk, pulling out Everlee’s things she had at the signing—two banners, a cloth, books, and pencils.

Grey slings our backpack over his shoulder, helping Draven carry Everlee’s belongings. I remain on edge, struggling to figure out how to act around her. It’s different from being trapped and free; our friendship grew on the basis of being confined. How are we supposed to grow when we’re free, and yet still worn down by our burdens?

I linger behind them, hesitant to step foot into the cottage that seems all too perfect and serene—such a place as this does not exist. Cannot exist.

The stairs lead up to a porch covered by a roof and supported by pillars, creating a mini terrace outside the front door. Draven sets the items down against the wall of the house, unlocking the door. My nails press against my palms, creating crescents that are unmistakable, drawing blood, as I merely stare at the three of them on that porch. Everlee shifts her attention to me and smiles, but it does nothing to calm me.

“It’s okay, Naya. Come on inside.” Her voice carries a nervous energy as she glances at Draven, seeking his approval. When she receives it, she visibly relaxes, weaving her fingers with his. I draw in a sharp breath, meeting Grey’s watchful eyes.

“We don’t have all day,” Draven mutters, making me tense.

God, when did I end up being so pathetic? I’ve always been the one standing up for myself, yet now—here—I feel like a mouse caught in a cat’s trap. I take the final steps to the stairs and the door, Grey’s hand finding mine as we step into the cottage.

It’s even more breathtaking on the inside, with simple details that enhance the beauty. As soon as we step into the hallway, we’re met with the warm and rustic interior. Right beside the hallway, a little farther ahead, is a staircase, revealing this cottage has more than one floor.

The smell of pine and wood hits me as I step inside, mixed along with vanilla. Hesitantly, I remove my shoes and jacket.

“You will stay in the guest room upstairs. It’s small, but it’ll do, and it has its own bathroom,” Draven mumbles, his face an unreadable mask.

The feeling that we’re not welcome here persists, even in the midst of the warm and inviting atmosphere of their cottage. Draven gestures for Grey to follow him, carrying Everlee’s belongings.

Everlee leads me into the kitchen as I look back at Grey, not wanting to be separated from him. I don’t trust Draven, not in the slightest.

The kitchen is an open space, modern yet cozy with wooden wall panels, rusty cupboards, and flowers lingering in every corner of a vase.

“He’ll be okay,” Everlee says, as if noticing my apprehension.

I nod at her, trying to relax, even if it’s hard.

“Tea?” she asks as she searches in the cupboards, bringing forth tea and starts boiling hot water on the stove.

“Sure,” I tell her. Standing awkwardly to the side, I’m not sure what to do.

When the tea is done, neither of us has spoken a word. She’s the first to break the silent, hands nervously fidgeting after she gives me a cup of tea.

“Why don’t we sit by the fire? We have so much to catch up on.”

I follow her into the living room, a space that’s expansive and intimate. The room’s centerpiece is a grand stone hearth, and the walls behind are made of stone to minimize the risk of burning up the house. They’re textured, rugged, and gray, while the remainder of the walls are clad in rich, dark wood, emanating a cozy glow. Large windows stretch from floor to ceiling, glass panels offering a panoramic view of the forest outside. It’s as if the trees are an extension of the room, branches framed against the glass.

Everlee sets down her cup of tea on the floor, kneeling beside the stone hearth, and arranging the logs as it crackles to life, the flames casting a golden glow that flickers across the room. She settles onto the plush carpet in front of the hearth, leaning her back against the couch. Gracefully, she reaches for a blanket hanging on the couch’s armrest, holding it out to me with a reassuring smile. I’m frozen like a statue, staring mesmerized at the fire. It instantly radiates a heat that’s comforting. The fall weather outside is getting to me, freezing me down to my bones, and experiencing a real fireplace is something I never thought I would do.

“Please, sit,” she urges gently, her voice a soothing balm.

I sink down onto the carpet, despite the discomfort of feeling so dirty in such a clean space. The warmth of the fire seeps into me, and I pull the blanket around my shoulders. Even though it feels wrong to be here, dirty, I wrap myself further in the comforting fabric.

I need a shower, but I can’t make myself ask for one, and I don’t want to leave Everlee’s side when I’ve finally gotten her back.

Silence ensues, the only sound being the steady crackle of the fire. The flames stretch and curl like tendrils, soaring inside the stone hearth, and I lean my head against the couch, feeling its well-worn fabric against my cheek.

“I still can’t believe you’re here,” I finally whisper. “What happened after…you know…?”

She sighs, swallowing harshly as her expression grows somber. “After our master—” she quickly corrects herself. “ Frederick , died, Draven was one of the new owners who found me. In his line of work, he has the skills to track people down, skills that most people don’t have. His mother’s best friend lost her daughter before her own husband murdered her. When his own mother died, he felt he had to find that lost daughter to honor his mother’s memory,” she says resigned, voice a low whisper.

I brace myself for the words, my heart clenching tightly.

“I’m that daughter, Naya. He spent years searching for me.”

“But, h-how?”

“He and his best friend discovered Grimhill Manor. Asher arrived first the day of the fine-visit, and then Draven came after the master was killed. It was by sheer luck that he found me.”

I sit silently as I absorb her words, her voice quivering with rawness that’s impossible to miss.

“He brought me here. It took time to adjust, but I-I like it here. I like him.”

“Oh, wow,” I finally manage.

“It was actually Draven who encouraged me to write my self-biography.” She continues. “He pushed me to do what I was too afraid of. Trauma has a way of rooting deep, and I was terrified Frederick would find out and punish me for telling the world the truth, even if he was dead. But then the news came—Grimhill Manor burned down, and it was all the police could do to uncover the truth of the human trafficking ring. With Frederick’s death, it was my sign to push forward and do the right thing.”

I stare out the window, watching rain fall on the outside. They dance like a delicate ballet conducted by the gentle wind, carrying the droplets as they clash against the window, leaving trails falling down. The fire’s glow reflects in the window, adding to the somber atmosphere.

Taking a sip of the sweet tea, the flavor is instantly unfamiliar yet comforting, a blend of herbs that lingers on my tongue. With each sip, the tea fills me with a gentle warmth seeping into my bones, the heat from the fireplace wrapping around me in the same way the blanket does, and for the first time in what feels like forever, I finally stop being so cold.

She looks at me, hesitantly and expectantly, her eyes searching mine for the story I know she wants me to tell, just as she told me hers.

“It’s a long story. It’s the story of us,” I tell her, the fire burning steadily in the background, casting a cozy, almost inviting atmosphere, perfect for story-telling, but I know it’s far from it.

Because the story of us is full of heartbreak, pain, and suffering—an immersive tale that draws you in, making you feel like it’s just a fictitious story, but it’s not.

And so I tell her everything, leaving no detail untold as the words spill out like a broken dam.

––––––––

“I’VE SEEN YOU TWO on the news,” Draven says as a way of greeting, his voice settling into the heavy-filled atmosphere. “I know what you’ve done.”

My palms grow damp and cold as an icy chill settles deep in my core, despite the warmth of the room. It feels as though the walls are closing in on me, the comforting heat becoming suffocating, as if the fire itself creeps closer, wanting to burn me to death. Everlee’s hand covers her mouth in shock and horror after just listening to the ending of my horrifying story when Draven barged right in.

His shoulders are squared, posture rigid, with a determined look on his face, as if the realization just dawned on him.

“If you knew the true story, you wouldn’t say something like that,” I boldly state, meeting his eyes like dark shadows beneath the tousled strands of his hair.

Tears brim in the corner of Everlee’s eyes, and her lower lip trembles. Draven’s expression hardens when he sees her upset, his gaze darting between us, silently accusing me of being the cause of her emotional distress. He motions with his head for me to follow, and I reluctantly stand up. His T-shirt clings to his muscles, the fabric taut against his frame, and the snake tattoo looks almost alive in the dim light. Its eyes appear to watch me, trying to figure out whether I’m spinning a lie.

“I’ll show them to their room.” He locks eyes with Everlee, who wipes her tears away and nods.

We walk toward the hallway, taking the stairs up one floor. The hall here is decorated with the same dark wooden panels, paintings and photographs hanging here and there, as it opens up into a larger space—another type of living room holding a television and a just as plush carpet as the one downstairs.

He opens a door to one of the rooms, and the first thing I see is Grey, turning around as if he’s been waiting for us. His smile is immediate, infectious. Beside his feet, a basket brims with our clothes, ready to be cleaned.

The room is just as beautifully decorated as the rest of the house—an elegant blend of modernity and rustic charm, giving a feeling of both age and authority. The king-sized bed is neatly made, adorned with a plush blanket, its dark wooden frame elevating it slightly off the floor. A large window stretches from floor to ceiling, triangular in its shape, formed after the unique architecture of the building.

On one side of the room, another stone hearth is already crackling with a cozy fire, and candles are scattered along the window frame.

“I don’t even want you here.” Draven breaks the silence as he steps into the room, letting me enter after him.

I make my way to the window, staring out into the world beyond. Something ethereal catches my sight; a vast, dark lake right before the house. The surface is smooth with the forest reflecting off the lake, water as dark as ink, giving that sense of mystery that’s both ominous yet beautiful all the same.

Grey comes up to me, arm wrapping protectively around my waist. I breathe in his scent; forest-like, even more amplified by the cottage around us.

Draven crosses his arms over his chest, staring us down. “I know what you mean to Everlee, even how much that now irks me. If you’re going to stay for a while until you’re on your feet again, we have to set some ground rules. They may be harsh, but I don’t care. My house, my rules.”

The warmth of the room seems to dissipate as I await what he has to say. Every bone in my body screams at me to protest, but I know it’s of no use—it’s his house and we have to accept it.

“I frankly don’t care about the truth. What I know is that you two are fugitives, hiding away from the police after burning down a manor. With the contacts in my line of work, I also know you killed the warden of the psychiatric facility you stayed at. And because of that, it puts me and Everlee at risk—accomplices in your crimes.”

His gaze pierces through me like a sharp knife, and I fight to focus on my breathing, even when it feels as if his eyes make me feel confined to a box with no way to break free.

He continues as both Grey and I stay silent, absorbing his words.“I know you both have gone through shit, which is why I need you to meet a psychiatrist four times a week, to begin with. I will not have you affecting Everlee’s health now that she is finally progressing.”

His words, cold yet laced with compassion for Everlee, stun me. The room falls into a heavy, uncomfortable quiet, the crackle of the fire seemingly distant and insignificant. Both Draven and Grey fix their eyes on me, and it’s clear that Grey has already given him his answer. I swallow liquid fire scorching my throat, the sour taste of fear clinging to my tongue.

“I personally know this psychiatrist,” Draven adds, voice slightly softening, even if the hardened gaze is left in his eyes. “I know you have been through a lot and don’t easily trust, but this is the only requirement. I can get you booked to this psychiatrist in a few weeks’ time. In the meanwhile, stay away from Everlee.”

Draven’s words linger in the air like ice crystals that form during winter, ready to bring destruction over everything. I understand him—I wouldn’t want two unstable people in my home either if I were him. The thick atmosphere stretches on forever, my heart a violent beat inside my chest as I finally nod. All the horrible memories from my past push to the forefront of my mind, knowing what deep memories will be uncovered, poised to cut deeper with every session.

Draven gives me a curt nod. “There’s nothing to worry about,” he simply says, but I feel the weight of his words settling over me.

He might not think so, but my past sits heavily on my shoulders, and I’m not ready for the eruption that will come with dredging it up—or who will haunt my mind even worse. But I have to do it. For Everlee, for Grey, but mostly for myself. I owe it to the little girl I once was—the girl who lost everything.