Clara

  I wake gasping as cold air bites my face. My lungs burn and my heart pounds fiercely against my ribs, desperate to break free.

  I blink rapidly when I realize I'm not in my bed.

  I'm falling.

  My body tips forward, one leg already out the window, stepping into the storm. The cold wind lashes at my skin, and the rain needles through my soaked pajamas. The storm outside rages, the wind shrieking and howling through the trees, their branches snapping like tortured limbs.

  Below, the wet grass sways, the ground drawing closer. My last foothold, bare and slipping on the rain-slick sill, threatens to give way.

  My arms flail instinctively, grasping for anything as my balance slips. My fingers clutch the billowing curtain, which jerks but holds my weight.

  My knuckles whiten around the thick fabric as I hang, suspended.

  Snap.

  One of the rings at the top rips free from the curtain rod with a horrible metallic ping.

  No. No, no, no.

  My leg slips dangerously as I pull myself back from the brink, every muscle in my body straining to hold on.

  Snap.

  Another ring rips free.

  The curtain sinks, and I drop lower, a strangled cry escaping me. For a terrifying moment, my grip falters.

  "Damnit…"

  I twist, digging my arms deeper into the fabric, clutching higher until my leg finds the wooden floorboard. I jerk back, nearly falling forward, then pull myself up till I'm finally inside.

  Still trembling, I close the window and collapse to the floor, wrapping my arms around myself as uncontrollable shivers shake me. The room is silent except for rain pounding the glass and distant thunder.

  What just happened?

  The window...it was open. I had locked it and drawn the curtains before going to bed.

  I reach up and dig my nails into my scalp, as if the pressure will help me think straight.

  Was I sleepwalking?

  But this isn’t like the usual stories. This wasn’t wandering the kitchen or mumbling in the hall. I unlocked a window. I climbed through it.

  This is spiraling out of control.

  I press my palm to my chest, feeling the gem pulse with my heartbeat. I'm slowly losing control. My nightmares are slipping into my reality. I sit a moment longer, trying to steady myself, then glance at the clock.

  3:04 a.m.

  It's still the dead of night. Still hours before anyone else wakes up.

  I swallow hard.

  Is this going to happen every time I fall asleep now? The nightmares were bad enough. But this—this is worse. If dreams made me afraid to sleep, now I’ll be too terrified to even close my eyes. I’ll have to stay awake—stab my own thigh if I must—just to keep conscious. To stop myself from climbing out the window like a possessed doll.

  I sigh, scanning the room.

  Fine. I can do this. I’ve stayed awake before. I’ll watch a movie, maybe even study. Anything to keep my eyes open. But the heaviness behind my eyelids is already pulling me down. I know sleep will claim me any minute. I feel it creeping at the edges of my mind.

  Arms wrapped tight around my ribs, I walk into the bathroom and turn on the hot water, letting the tub fill. Then I step into the walk-in closet. I find a long purple scarf and tug it sharply a few times, stretching it to make sure it won’t tear. If it snaps after I tie my wrist to the bed, it’s useless.

  I then cross the room to my desk, rummaging the drawers until I find it.

  Glue and thumbtacks.

  I carry the tacks to the window, smear glue on the latch, and press them into place. Then I drop the rest on the floor nearby.

  If I try to open the window again, if I move toward it in my sleep, this will wake me.

  It's stupid and desperate and probably pointless. But right now, it's all I have.

  I drag the brush through my hair, taming each strand like it owes me something.

  The door opens, and Lily steps in, holding that orange bottle she claims is homemade juice, but I know it’s just the alcohol she stole from the kitchen shelf.

  "It’s done," she says, leaning against the wall and taking a swig.

  I can see why he keeps this greedy person around. She is good at her job.

  Alister...

  I got the address for the house. Another city, just over an hour away. I told him I needed time to plan how to slip out. And that jerk? He just asked for the address, saying he’d go alone.

  I never replied.

  "And Uncle? He’s still not home?" I whisper, closing the wooden box and stepping out of the room. I probably don’t need to whisper. Everyone’s asleep. The sleeping pills I had Lily add to their food finally took effect. But one person wasn't at home.

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  "No. He's still nowhere to be seen." She answers, following me downstairs.

  As I head to the kitchen, Lily snickers behind me. "You know, the more time you spend with him, the more you’ll become like him."

  I know exactly who she means.

  What happened to him? His sister’s nothing like him, and his mother’s kind, so I can’t blame his family. These Wyatt siblings couldn't be more different. Alister enters a room like he owns the place, while, Nora... she practically apologizes for existing.

  "Say, you’ve been working with Alister for a while, right? Any idea why he’s like this?" I ask, reaching for ceramic mugs and instant coffee.

  Lily takes a deep breath, eyes fixed on the bottle in her hand. "Well… from what I’ve learned, he changed after he got kidnapped for two months when he was a kid."

  The spoon mixing the drink stills in my hand. "Kidnapped?" I repeat.

  She nods. "I've seen his old pictures. He seemed like such a timid and gentle child."

  I lift the mugs carefully, steam curling in the air as I walk out the kitchen.

  Timid. The word tastes foreign when paired with Alister.

  I remember the flower field. How he broke down. A frightened, haunted boy in a body that grew up without ever healing.

  He said the hallucinations were from his past. Unpleasant things, he said. Whatever happened during those two months didn't just change him... It forged him. Hardened him. Made him who he is now.

  I give Lily further instructions before walking out of the house.

  The air is cool and damp, heavy with the remnants of last night’s storm. The sky hangs low, a dull slate gray, thick with lingering clouds. The Houses around me glisten with rain, gutters drip steadily, and yards are strewn with wind-tossed leaves and petals clinging to wet pavement. I walk carefully, avoiding slick patches where water still pools.

  I know where Uncle is. Where he usually drifts off to when he stays over at our house. When things get too loud.

  A park a few streets away, beside a café and an overgrown hedge. There’s a bench overlooking a duck pond, catching the morning light just right when the clouds break. He likes to sit there and reminisce.

  It's a coward's kind of peace. Our peace.

  Passing the café on the corner, its windows fogged, the scent of espresso blending with rain, my heel catches on a raised crack in the pavement. Just as I’m about to fall, an arm wraps around my waist, steadying me. When I’m pulled upright, the coffee in my hand jolts, spilling a few drops near the rim.

  "I'm sorry, did I spill any on you?" I ask in a rush as I glance down at the stranger's sleeve.

  But then I look up. And the words stall in my throat.

  He's beautiful. Like...something out of a fairytale. Pretty golden hair. Green eyes, like a forest after rain. And he's wearing a tailored suit-dark charcoal with a gold silk tie.

  He flicks an invisible speck from his sleeve. "Not a stain in sight," he says smoothly, eyes gleaming with mischief. "Though if you wanted to leave an impression, there are easier ways."

  I scoff. "Right. Because tripping on the sidewalk was all part of my master plan."

  He chuckles. "Well, if it wasn't, I suggest you keep it. Very effective."

  And he's a smooth talker...great.

  My eyes catch something gold tucked in his coat pocket. He notices and smirks.

  "Ah," he says, pulling out a pocket watch, letting it swing gently from its delicate chain. It's gorgeous.

  "Caught your eye, did it?" he asks, watching me more than the watch. "Interested?"

  I shake my head. "Not really. But I have a friend obsessed with stuff like that. He’d probably faint if he saw this."

  “Good thing your friend with good taste isn’t here,” he grins. “Fainting’s harder to catch than tripping.”

  "You probably shouldn't carry that thing out in the open. Someone could snatch it."

  He tilts his head in amusement. "Oh? Were you planning to?"

  I shoot him a flat look. "Of course not!"

  "Pity." He murmurs, pocketing the watch. "I might've let you get away with it. What's your name, by the way?"

  "Sarah." I lie as easy as breathing.

  He smirks but doesn't question it as his gaze drops.

  "That's pretty." He says, nodding to my neck.

  I glance down quickly, heart skipping a beat. For a split second, I think he's talking about the gem-peeking from the neckline. But he's pointing to my necklace. The old heart-shaped one with the faded chain.

  "Uh, thanks."

  "You're welcome." He leans forward, lowering his voice. "Though I think it's the woman wearing it that really makes it stand out."

  "Arthur!"

  A voice cuts through the air. I look up to see a man across the street, holding two cups of coffee, glaring with mild annoyance. Arthur sighs dramatically, slipping his hand into his pocket as he turns toward the caller.

  "Unfortunately, duty calls," he says, feigning disappointment. "It was a pleasure, though." He raises a lazy hand in greeting as he walks over to him.

  "Flirting again?" the older man calls out.

  Arthur sighs, shaking his head with mock resignation. "Would you believe me if I said I was just being a gentleman?"

  The older man snorts. "Not even for a second."

  Arthur smirks, then glances back at me with that confident look. "Try not to trip again, sweetheart. Next time, I might not be around to save you."

  A wink punctuates the line before he quickens the pace.

  Creep. Handsome, yes. But still a creep. The kind that can talk his way out of anything and leave you questioning what just happened.

  I continue towards the park. My gaze settles on the figure sitting on the weathered bench, his head bowed low. I stop for a moment, watching him as he stays there, wrapped in his own misery. I walk up slowly, trying to keep my voice steady. "Everyone was looking for you."

  He snaps his head up, tired eyes meeting mine, and lets out a long, weary sigh, his face tight with exhaustion.

  I hold out one of the mugs I brought from home, offering it to him innocently. He eyes it with lifting brow. "You carried these from home, even though there's a cafe right here?"

  He still takes it, though.

  I sit beside him, pushing past the sting of old wounds. Back then, after punishments, I’d hide away, crying until I couldn’t breathe. But whenever Uncle found me, he’d bring me here—to this very bench—and we'd share his homemade instant coffee. The café was close, but we never went inside. Instead, he’d sit with me and keep asking what was wrong.

  Till this day I'm not sure he asked because he was worried or because he wanted to get some dirt on my parents.

  "Too old now to remember drinking these together?"

  He smiles tiredly and we take a sip.

  I spit it out almost immediately, the taste lingering on my tongue like stale cardboard. It's awful. Truly, it's the worst thing I've ever tasted.

  "It's gross." I say, making a childish face. Were those packets expired?

  He takes another sip, as though he's savoring it.

  "Don't drink it! It's awful."

  But he just swallows. "It's the first time my niece's made me a drink. No way am I going to throw it away."

  In my uncle's eyes, I will forever be his innocent little niece. I try hard not make him think of me as anything else, since this makes him easier to convince.

  He sits quiet for a moment, staring at the gray-blue sprawl of the park. "You're a good kid, you know that?"

  Really? That's not what I am. I lie, cheat and hurt. Heck, I even made Lily give everyone sleeping pills just so I could leave the house. A good kid doesn't do that.

  Then my phone buzzes, and I glance down.

  Everything is in order.

  I slip it back into my pocket, turning to my uncle. "How long are you planning on staying out here?"

  He looks at me, eyes scanning my face like a familiar book with a forgotten ending. "Ah," he chuckles. "You need something. That’s why you came here alone."

  I open my mouth, then close it again. Caught.

  He shakes his head, more amused than offended. "Go on then, Clara. What is it? What do you want?" He sees the hesitation flicker in my eyes. He waves a hand, as if inviting me to confess. "If it's something your father would hate, I'd be delighted to help. And if it's not, well... I'll probably still say yes."

  I chew my bottom lip. "I need to go for an important study session, so I won't be around when the guests arrive."

  "Did you ask your mother?"

  "I texted her, and she said yes. But I don't know. What if people say something about me not being there?" I reply, trying to look as worried as possible.

  While I had Lily send a text from my mom's phone agreeing to this, Mom won't remember anything once she wakes up. I need to tell someone about this so they can cover for me. And to make sure my absence doesn't cause a problem for me later.

  "Relax. I'll...head back in after a while. I'll make sure no one badmouths you or causes you any trouble." He reassures me with a smile.

  I smile brightly. "Thank you!"

  As I start walking off, I glance back. He's still slumped on that bench, eyes skyward again, lost in whatever's on his mind.