Page 52 of Gravehouse

Screams tear through the room, drowned in white noise.

Luce… it’s Luce screaming.

Asher stands motionless as his arm pins me behind him. No tremble in his frame, no frantic shifts of a man unfamiliar with the weight of a weapon.

Saliva burns down my throat, the room tilting under dust and adrenaline. This is a man built for violence, not sport.

He turns back over his shoulder, eyes dropping to me. Pupils darker, jaw locked, and veins roped along his forearms.

He isn’t scared.

My mouth opens but nothing comes out.

Luce screams through the ringing in my ears again. “Ivy! Nonna’s hurt!”

Shoving toward the head of the table, I feel his arm slip away, his fingers dragging against mine for a single second before letting go.

My knees hit the floor as soon as I reach her and I don’t think, don’t fucking process a single thing butsave her.

I press my palm to her torso and gasp, blood spilling between my fingers the same way Asher’s did.

I blink.

This is different.This is too much.

Darkness closes in, the room shrinking to a black-rimmed tunnel.Control the scene. Lower your own breathing before you touch the wound, because panic is transmissible and bodies copy each other faster than language.

“Stay with me.” I press harder into her soft belly. “Nonna, look at me. Look at me.”

Blood spreads across the floor.

“Nonna?” Knives scrape down my throat when I swallow.

Her weak fingers find mine, still warm. “Ma petite...”

“Shhh.” I cradle her head, blood sticking her hair to my fingers. “Don’t talk. Save your strength.”

She gasps, pulling me down by the back of my neck until her lips touch my ear. She forces the words through the blood pooling in her throat and I catch every syllable.

“Le Boucher will take care of you Ivy. He always has, he’s the only one you can trust.” The words fumble through the blood pooling in her throat, but I catch every syllable. Of course I trust Emeric.

My mouth opens to answer, but she got goes stiff in my hands.

No!

CHAPTER

ELEVEN

IVY

Gone.

Blood drips from Leon and onto the blue-patterned tiles Nonna picked out when she renovated the kitchen, or tried to. It was the first time I realized we couldn’t hirepeoplepeople for maintenance because it would run too high a risk.

This was our safe space, and Nonna made sure we always knew it.

Get up. Do something.