I feel the weight of his presence even before he opens the door. I swallow.Don't acknowledge him, Adora, don't give him too much.
"Thirsty?" he asks.
I lift my head just enough to glare at him.
"Why? Are you offering your blood?"
His lips curl, dark amusement flickering in his eyes.
"I can give you something that tastes better."
Fucking jackass.
I exhale, pressing my fingers against my temples. I'm not at my worst anymore, but I'm not myself either. Not even close.
He crouches in front of me, his forearms casually resting on his knees, completely comfortable and in control. Fuck, I should be able to stand up to him more than this. I should be able to at least rattle him a little.
"What are you doing here, Ghost?" I sigh. "I can't just disappear. People will look for me."
He almost smiles.
"What people, Adora? Your junkie father? Your vile mother?" I flinch. He knows exactly where to strike. "Or maybe your ex-husband?" His eyes flash. "Maybe Liz? But Liz is all the way in Italy, isn't she? And you haven't talked to her in almost a year."
His voice sharpens. "Your substitute teacher contract just ended. You have no friends. No one. You're all alone, adorable.”
He goes quiet for a moment.
“Do you want to see Liz?” That tone is too soft to mean anything good.
I can’t stop the tremble in my voice. “What do you mean?”
He shifts and pulls his phone out, taps the screen a few times and turns it to me. Dread bites into my bones like a rabid animal. There are photos of Liz. So many of them.
I lift a shaky finger but stop myself before touching the screen.
“Go on,” he says, his voice impossibly gentle. “There are more. You can look.”
I start scrolling. Swiping. Tears blur my vision.
Liz having coffee. Liz in one of her classes, taking notes. Liz laughing with another girl. Liz having lunch. Talking to a boy at a party.
Liz sleeping.
I start shaking. I jolt backward and glue my back to the damp dungeon wall. My eyes snap to his face. My vision is still blurryfrom the tears, but I can see the way he’s looking at me — almost with pity.
“You… you said you wouldn’t hurt her,” I whisper, my voice a trembling mess. “You said so.”
His brows furrow. “Did I?” He tilts his head, still watching me. “I remember saying I wouldn’t let your father get to her.”
My heart keeps pounding. Fast. Fast. Faster. Am I having a heart attack? Is this what he wants?
“Please don’t hurt her. Please,” I hear myself pleading. The words come out broken, through short gasps. I can’t breathe anymore.
“Why would I hurt her?” His voice sounds almost tender. Merciful.
But he’s lying. I know he is. He has to be.
I try to breathe. To beg him. To throw myself at his feet. But I can’t. My gasps become shorter and shorter. The corners of my vision start to darken. I’m heading into a full-blown panic attack.
