Page 45 of The Shape of my Scar (The Unbroken #1)

T he apartment felt too quiet.

Faolan lay curled on the couch, a book open across her lap, the same line staring up at her for the tenth minute in a row. She hadn’t turned the page, hadn’t absorbed a single word.

Her body was still but her mind was restless. It felt strange not having Thane close by.

It made her anxious.

It had only been an hour since Thane left, but the apartment felt colder. It was like he’d taken all her energy with him and left her floating in a hollow space.

She sat up with a sigh and tossed the book onto the cushion beside her. It bounced, flopped upside down.

“Brilliant,” she muttered to herself.

Pacing the living room didn’t help, either. She made it two full laps before she muttered, “Bollocks,” and headed for the kitchen.

Lunch. She could make lunch. Something easy. Something even she couldn’t burn.

“Mac and cheese,” she announced to no one, opening a cabinet. “Because I am an adult, and I deserve processed cheese and carbs.”

She pulled out the box and set it on the counter. For a second, she just stared at it—her reflection faint in the chrome kettle beside it.

Thane would examine her boxed effort suspiciously, but he’d still eat it. Probably with three kinds of hot sauce.

He’d told her once that cooking relaxed him. Mumbled it, and then looked like he wanted to take it back. And then promptly clammed up after she asked him who he was cooking for.

She stirred the boiling pasta and thought of the tattoo over his chest—the one she’d traced with her fingers just last night. Faded red shoes, like Dorothy’s from The Wizard of Oz .

When she’d asked, he’d muttered, “Long story,” and then, after a pause, added, “All of us have one: Zel, Lirian, Maro.”

“Why?” she’d whispered, her lips brushing the arch of his collarbone, though she had some idea.

He’d hesitated, then simply said, “Because we all wanted to keep a piece of you close.”

She’d touched those shoes then, kissed them. And he’d swallowed hard, whispering, “You are my life,” before making her forget everything but the touch of his hands, the feel of his body.

A soft ding from the stove broke her reverie.

She drained the pasta, dumped the sauce in, and stirred it carefully. Then she took one bite and winced. Thane had been spoiling her.

“Okay,” she mumbled, reaching for the salt. “I can mess it up.”

Still chewing, she wandered to the desk, sipping from the glass of water in her hand, letting her eyes drift to the row of monitors above the sideboard.

It showed three angles of the hallway.

All empty as they should be.

No one came up to their floor without being buzzed in. The lift needed a keycard, and Thane had installed double security protocols just to be safe.

Her gaze shifted.

And her heart stopped.

In the third camera, a man stood in the shadows at the end of the corridor.

A full head of grey hair.

Long coat draped over broad shoulders

He wasn’t supposed to be there.

Her stomach dropped.

No one was supposed to come up.

Her eyes darted to the lift panel. The light hadn’t changed; she hadn’t buzzed anyone up.

But he was there.

Just standing.

And then he looked up right at the camera.

Faolan froze. The glass slipped from her hand, hitting the carpet with a dull ping , water soaking into the rug in slow, expanding silence.

Her breath froze in her lungs.

She stepped back from the monitor like it had bitten her.

And then…

All three screens went black.

“No,” she whispered.

She fumbled for her phone on the table, her heart hammering in her throat.

The door beeped.

Unlocked.

Her mouth dried.

The revolver was in the master bedroom, but the hall to reach it stretched like a corridor in a nightmare. Too long. Too exposed.

The taser. It was in the guest bedroom right where Thane had insisted she keep it, on the coffee table.

“Just in case,” he’d said.

She’d rolled her eyes and told him he was being paranoid.

But now…now she ran.

She passed the kitchen island and snatched the biggest knife from the block with shaking hands. Then she bolted into the guest room and snatched the taser with trembling hands before she darted into the closet and shoved the door shut behind her.

Darkness. Her breath felt loud in the small space. The thud of her heart louder.

She held the knife tight in one hand, the taser clutched in the other.

Footsteps, slow and measured.

The crunch of broken glass in the hallway.

Then…

“Faolan…”

His voice.

Sing-song. Familiar.

“Faolan, sweetheart…”

She bit down on a whimper. Her shirt was damp, her skin ice-cold.

He always called her that.

Sweetheart.

Right before he—

“It’s been a long time,” he said, tone light, conversational. Like they were old friends. “You’re still so beautiful. I have been catching glimpses of you.”

Tears gathered in her eyes.

Not now. Not like this.

She gritted her teeth and pressed herself tighter against the wall while she clutched the taser like a lifeline.

Her fingers trembled as she pressed the call button for her first emergency contact.

Thane’s name glowed on the screen. It rang. Once. Twice.

And then, click.

“Don’t hang up,” she whispered, shoving the phone under a shirt that had fallen in the closet. The sound muffled, but still connected.

From beyond the door, his voice coiled into the air.

She had to survive.

Thane would come.

She just had to stay alive long enough for him to find her.

“Sweetheart,” he called. “Where are you?”

Faolan pressed her hand over her mouth.

She couldn’t see him, but her body remembered everything. Goosebumps broke out and chills ran under her skin. She thought she would black out.

Sandalwood.

The smell clung to her throat and made her stomach twist. It had always been on his hands, his coat, his sheets.

His footsteps echoed faintly, padded and unhurried, as if he were walking through memory lane rather than a stranger’s apartment.

“Sweetheart…” His voice floated through the air again, soft and sing-song. Warm in a way that made her feel frozen.

He moved from room to room, opening doors, shifting furniture.

“You always did like hiding,” he mused. “Remember the big wardrobe in the green room? You used to curl up in the corner with your thumb in your mouth. I used to sit beside you, stroke your hair. I told you that you were my little star.”