Page 42 of Ace of Shadows
The kitchen is bare and empty with the blinds closed and only the hum of the fridge for company. Cassian remains by my side until I reach the downstairs office. The door is closed but when I reach for the handle, Cassian’s hand shoots out and grasps my wrist.
“Ivy,” he says. “Your father was killed in there.”
My heart gives one singular, powerful beat and my fingers curl against my palm. “In there?”
“Mmhmm.”
“Do… the crime scene people, do they…?” The words catch in my throat.
“No.” Cassian releases my wrist. “They don’t clean.”
If I want answers, they’ll be behind that door, but the thought of walking through that door to see where my father was murdered is too much. Tears sting at the corner of my eyes. Hiding them from Cassian, I abruptly turn and hobble toward the stairs.
“My room is up there.”
Cassian follows me upstairs and then walks on my right-hand side, keeping himself between me and the only door on the right.
That door leads to my parents’ room. I don’t need to ask why he did that. I can guess. My mom was raped and assaulted in that room. Nothing will make me go in there.
In my bedroom, Cassian remains by the door and leans against the frame while keeping one eye on me.
It’s weird being back here. This room doesn’t feel like mine anymore.
The bedspread is mine, so are the books piled high on the bedside table and the games console where I’d spent too many evenings soothing my mind with simulation games. The posters of cities I’ve visited around the wall and the snow globes lining the top shelf near the window used to bring me such joy when I looked at them.
Now they fuel the dread in my gut. I’ll never get on another plane so long as I live.
All these things, all these memories, are mine.
Yet I feel like I’m in someone else’s skin looking at things that Ishouldfeel something for. I feel nothing and the longer I stand and stare at everything, the stronger the urge to run becomes.I throw myself into pulling clothes out of my dresser and into the suitcase I find in the closet, stuffing it full of underwear and clothes I’d rarely wear outside of parties. Anything to get out of here.
Cassian doesn’t say a word, he just watches and then takes the suitcase from me when I’m finished.
Back downstairs, I eye the front door and then turn toward the office.
“Ivy,” Cassian warns. “You don’t want to see what’s in there.”
“I do,” I say firmly. “Plus… if there’s anything my father was hiding, I know where to look.”
Cassian’s brow twitches and he glances over his shoulder toward the door, then he sets the suitcase down. “Alright. But the second it looks like you’re going south, I’ll carry you out of here regardless of what you say, okay?”
“Okay.”
This time, Cassian lets me go first. I push against the door handle until the metal clicks and the door swings open, the handle escaping my grasp as I only take a half-step forward.
I spent years of my childhood in here. I’d climb over his large desk, spin the globe by the window until all the countries blurred together, read stories with dad on the fur rug by the fireplace, and sleep on the leather couch, only to wake up with the seams imprinted on my cheek.
One Christmas, we even opened all of our presents in here until my mom spilled red wine on the rug. Rather than getting angry, Dad liked the pattern of the stain and kept it.
The stain is lost now under the dark brown puddles of dried blood.
It’s everywhere.
The desk is splintered down the middle, the couch has been torn open by something sharp and shoved against the wall, my father’s office chair is in the middle of the room and surrounded by more dried brown puddles of blood. Blood streaks up the wall, staining my father’s books in the bookcase and even splattering on the ceiling above. The drinks cabinet usually under lock and key is smashed open with all the bottles broken and scattered across the floor, and the globe I treasured so much as a child is caved in and covered in blood.
My stomach rolls and bile crawls up my throat. I immediately cover my mouth.
“We’re leaving,” Cassian says firmly but as he reaches for me, I jerk away.
