Page 99 of The Art of Ruin

“I am invested,” he replies. “This is the most interesting you’ve been in years.”

I ignore him, my eye roll saying what my lips won’t deny.

Across the room, Casey says something to Elena that I don’t quite catch, but it makes her laugh again, softer this time, less guarded.

She looks up.

Finds me watching.

For a second, neither of us looks away.

It’s not a long moment.

But it’s enough.

Enough that something settles quietly into place, something I don’t examine too closely because I don’t yet know what to do with it.

Then Letty tugs at my sleeve, demanding my attention again, and the moment breaks, the room filling back in around us.

Everything carries on as it should.

But I’m aware of her now in a way I wasn’t before.

Not because anything obvious has changed.

Because something has.

And for the first time—

I’m not entirely sure I want to ignore it.

16.Casey

I wake slowly,the sun coming in through the window warm against my skin. I stretch, a quiet groan slipping out before I can stop it—and pause, waiting for the familiar pull that usually follows.

It doesn’t come.

I lie there for a second, still taking stock. Everything feels… lighter. No heavy drag pinning me down, no instinctive bracing before I even try to move.

The worst of it is over. I lift my head, listening for the familiar sounds of the Mancini family, but nothing comes.

Just… quiet.

For a few seconds, I stay exactly where I am, staring up at the unfamiliar ceiling, letting that register properly before anything else does. The room is warm in that deep, but not too hot, way, allowing me to snuggle under the covers. Soft morning light filters in through the tall windows across from the bed, catching on the pale timber beams overhead and the thick wool throw draped across the end of the bed.

It smells faintly of pine and something sweeter underneath it—clean linen, maybe, or whatever they use in this place insteadof the overly perfumed hotel version of “fresh.” It reminds me of Letty.

I shift slightly, testing. There’s still a trace of it, of that ache in my body, but not anything that will stop me from getting up and about. More of a reminder than a restriction, and for the first time in what feels like days, I don’t feel like I’m negotiating with my own body before I move. I feel like me again.

“Oh, thank God,” I murmur under my breath, dragging a hand over my face before pushing myself upright.

The movement doesn’t punish me for it.

That alone feels like a win.

I sit there for a second longer than I need to, letting that sink in, then swing my legs over the side of the bed and stand, slower out of habit than necessity this time.

The floor is warm under my feet because, of course, they’d have underfloor heating here. I take a moment to stretch, cautiously at first, then a little more confidently when nothing immediately protests.