I nod, acutely aware of Cade and Aurora watching us, but Malachi continues like we’re the only two people in the world.
He leans down and gives me a long, devastating kiss. He takes his time, tasting me, exploring my mouth like he’s trying to memorize the shape of my lips. When he finally pulls away, I’m breathless and dizzy.
I clear my throat, feeling heat bloom across my cheeks. I’m sure they’re bright pink after that display.
“Careful, Kat. Keep looking at me like that, and I might forget we have an audience.”
I shove his chest and laugh it off, trying to ignore the way my pulse races at the thought.
“Goodnight.”
I follow Aurora down the hall, but before I close the door, I hear Malachi’s voice carrying through the house. “I’ll take the couch, but we need to talk.”
My stomach clenches. What are they going to discuss? Me? The situation? The obvious tension between all of us?
“I know the room is nothing special—Cade is no decorator—but at least we have our own bathroom and heated blankets.” Aurora beams at me, her energy infectious despite the latehour. She goes over to the dresser and starts pulling drawers open.
I remember then that my duffel bag with some of my clothes is still sitting in the jeep. Great.
“Here, you can wear some of my pajamas.” She hands me a neat stack of soft cotton clothes that smell like lavender, and I stack them on top of the jacket I’m already carrying.
“I think I’ll take a shower too,” I tell her, suddenly desperate to wash away the day.
Aurora yawns, already climbing into bed and pulling the covers up to her chin. “Mmm, good idea. The water pressure’s amazing here.” She nods sleepily, her curls splaying across the pillow.
I set the stack of clothes down on the wooden countertop, my fingers lingering on the soft fabric. The bathroom is amazing—nothing too fancy, but spacious and calming. There’s a large walk-in shower covered in midnight-blue tiles with little swirls that remind me of the ocean at night, deep and mysterious.
I turn on the water, and both showerheads spring to life—a large rainfall one mounted on the ceiling and another on the wall. To my surprise, they heat instantly, sending clouds of steam billowing against the glass walls like morning fog.
I strip off my clothes, each piece a reminder of how quickly everything can burn, and drop them into the wicker laundry basket in the corner. But before I step into the sanctuary of hot water, something makes me pause.
I move past the pajamas and grab my jacket, my fingers fumbling through the pocket until I feel the familiar edges of old paper. I pull out the photograph, my heart clenching as I stare at the girl in the picture. Her face is etched into my soul, but I force myself to memorize every detail again—the curve ofher mouth, the light in her eyes, the way her hair falls across her shoulder.
I tuck the photograph back into my jacket pocket, then step into the shower. The hot water hits my skin, and I breathe in the thick, warm steam, closing my eyes as it washes away the remnants of the day.
Let’s see if the dead are awake tonight.
Chapter Ten
LOG TEN – MIRROR RECOGNITION FAILURE: SUBJECT STUDIED HER REFLECTION, TOUCHING THE GLASS REPEATEDLY. WHEN ASKED WHAT SHE SAW, SHE WHISPERED “SOMEONE ELSE.”
The hot waterfeels great against my skin, and the way the shower is designed—with that massive glass wall—all the steam collects and swirls around me like a personal sanctuary. The heat seeps into my muscles, dissolving the knots of tension that have been building all night.
I keep my eyes closed and clear my mind of everything except this moment—me and the warm cascade at my back. I think about the girl in the photograph, her face floating behind my eyelids. I don’t know her name or who she is, but I will her to come to me. I implore her to communicate with me, reaching across whatever divide separates us.
I try to imagine the Veil thinning, search for that perfect frequency where the living and the dead can touch.
Suddenly, I feel it. Something spreads across my skin like a thousand tiny pinpricks, electric and foreign. An overwhelming wave of worry crashes over me—but it’s not mine. These aren’t my feelings, this crushing anxiety that tastes like copper and fear. They’re hers.
A soft buzzing fills my head, growing louder, and I open my eyes to shake it away.
The shower is gone.
I didn’t mean to go this deep. I was willing her to appear with me in the bathroom, but somehow, I’ve been pulled into her space instead. I’m standing in an all-white room that feels sterile and cold—hospital-like, maybe medical. The air smells of antiseptic and something else I can’t name.
The girl, the woman, really, is sitting on a metal gurney in the center of the room. She tilts her head to one side, studying me with the same intensity I’m using to study her. Her eyes are wide, startled but not afraid.
“I’m Kat,” I say, not daring to move, barely daring to breathe. Also realizing I’m completely nude, but there’s nothing I can do about that now. “Can you tell me your name?”
