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CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

I SAT CURLED in the chair by the window, the small book balanced in my lap. A Walk With Me. My fingers traced the worn edges of the cover, the binding cracked from years of handling. I’d read it more times than I could count, but each time, it brought the same quiet peace. A stillness that settled deep inside me, keeping the worst of my fears at bay.

I forced myself to focus on the words. On the imagery of a simple walk, the narrator describing the rustling leaves, the gentle bend of the river, the way the morning light kissed the treetops. There was no pain in these pages. No violence. Just the beauty of the world, untouched by cruelty.

My fingers tightened around the book. Lucy, please be safe.

A knock at the door made me jump, and I snapped the book shut, pressing it against my chest. Mystic stepped in, his gaze sweeping over me before settling on the book in my hands. He frowned slightly, stepping closer.

“That’s the book Lucy brought?” he asked, eyes narrowed with quiet curiosity.

I hesitated, then slowly relaxed my grip. Swallowing hard, my throat still sore from earlier, I lifted the book slightly, letting him see it.

Mystic sat on the edge of the bed, nodding toward it. “What’s it about?”

I hesitated before flipping it open, running my fingers over the faded words. “About looking at the beauty all around you , ” I whispered, my voice still raspy but stronger than before.

He tilted his head, waiting. I could tell he wasn’t the type to push, but his interest was real.

“I found it when I was sold to Big John Ricca,” I continued softly, assuming they already knew my history by now. “Under a cot... the place I was kept. It was small, forgotten by the girl before me. But I read it.” A small, almost wistful smile tugged at my lips. “It spoke about walking through the world, seeing its beauty. How even when things feel dark, there is always something... peaceful waiting just ahead.”

Mystic’s gaze never left me. “And that helped you?”

I nodded. “It made me believe there was still good in the world.” My fingers tightened slightly on the cover. “Even when I couldn’t see it.”

Silence stretched between us. Mystic exhaled, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “Never had somethin’ like that,” he admitted after a moment. “Somethin’ to hold onto when shit got bad.”

I studied him, my eyes softening. “Maybe you do now.”

Mystic’s jaw ticked, his gaze flickering to mine, something unreadable in his expression. Then, without a word, he reached forward and ran a rough fingertip along the worn spine of the book. Just a simple touch, acknowledging what it meant to me.

My chest ached—not from fear or pain, but from something else. Something that made me feel seen.

He cleared his throat, pulling back. “Keep reading. If it helps, you hold onto it.”

I gave him a small nod, my fingers brushing over the pages again. As he stood to leave, I found myself whispering, “Would you like me to read to you?”

He stopped. Turned. His eyes flicked back to the book, then to me.

A slow grin curled his lips. “I have to meet with Devil, but you’ll read to me later, yeah?”

“Yeah,” I murmured, and smiled at him softly as he left.