Because now, I reallydounderstand.
The shadows aren’t part of the room. They’re not tricks of the light or whatever the hell my brain is trying to rationalize. They’remine. I know it because I can feel it, feelthem.
I didn’t come back alone.
The realization hits with an impact like the bullet, imbedding itself deep. I don’t move, don’t react, but inside, there’s a split second of pure, unfiltered panic.
What the fuck is this?
They shift again, just barely, as though they’re responding to this newest spike in my pulse. Like they can feel me as much as I feel them.
Somehow, I manage to keep my breathing even, my body still. Malcolm sees them. He has to. That’s what wasfascinating. Whatever the fuck is happening, he knows exactly what it is. But I can’t give him one more thing to have over my head, so I don’t show my panic, my weakness. I bury it. Shove it down deep, lock it behind the same walls I’ve used for years, the ones that kept me alive long before any of this.
Malcolm smiles, satisfied.
“Take the time you need to recover,” he says, his tone as conversational as ever. “When you’re ready, we’ll get to work.”
He heads for the door, and I stare at his back instead of letting my eyes wander where they really want to look. When he reaches the door, he pauses to peer at me over his shoulder.
“Get them under control. You’ll need them soon.”
And then he’s gone, the door closing behind him with a soft, final click.
My breathing picks up, pangs shooting through my chest with each sharp inhale. I stare up at the ceiling, watching as the shadows swirl above me in a vortex, proving that Malcolmknows a hell of a lot more than I do.
But I do know one thing.
I died, and something came back with me, like it sunk its claws into my soul before it slammed back into my body.
I can feel it in my skin, in my lungs. In the way the shadows breathe with me instead of around me, like they’re a part of me. I don’t think controlling them will be the problem. I’ll play along. I’ll heal. I’ll learn whatever the hell this is and become exactly what he thinks he owns. Because right now, Cason is alive, and as long as he is, I can wait.
The shadows stretch further along the walls, deeper, darker, like they understand something I haven’t said out loud yet.
Like they already know.
That one day…
I’m going to kill Malcolm Bellrose.
Present day.
I don’t come backto pain, not at first. I come back to color.
It’s everywhere. Through me. Around me. Inside me in a way that doesn’t make sense, as though Iamcolor. It’s not just red or blue or anything that has a name. It’s layers, frequencies, light bending into something I can feel instead of see.
I don’t have a body. I don’t have muscle or skin or bones. I’m just movement. Signals. Something vast and bright and endless…
Then something yanks me back, hard. Air slams into my lungs like a collision. I choke on it, body jerking violently as everything snaps back into place all at once. Weight, pressure, gravity,pain.
“Oh,shit.”
My voice comes out wrecked, like it had to claw its way back into existence with the rest of me. My back arches off the small bed, every muscle locking as I drag in another breath, then another, too fast, too much, too dizzy, can’t stop.
“Easy. Easy, Case.”
It’s Harrison’s voice, close and grounding. There are hands on both my shoulders, steady but not restraining, just there.
“You’re back.”
