Page 21 of Break Me

ME: Yes. Where?

SAMUEL: Our usual place. Twenty minutes.

Our usual place is the old Miller’s barn. Everyone in Ashbourne knows it’s abandoned. It’s too far from town for anyone to wander by, which is what makes it the perfect place for us to meet.

I grab my keys off the counter and make a beeline for the door, hoping to slip out before anyone notices.

I should know better.

“Where are you off to in such a hurry?” Dad asks.

I freeze for half a second before turning around. He’s leaning in the kitchen doorway, arms crossed, expression steady but sharp—Dad’s version of a spotlight.

“Katie and I are going shopping,” I say, aiming for casual.

“It’s awfully early for you to be going out shopping.”

“She has to work later,” I reply with a shrug. “Otherwise I’d still be in bed.”

Dad doesn’t buy it. I can see the shift. The subtle sharpening in his gaze.

He studies me carefully. Dad’s like a human lie detector. One wrong blink, and I’m done for.

“Shopping, huh?” he says slowly. “Interesting timing, right after you were asking Knox about Wolf.”

My stomach drops, but I keep my expression neutral. “I was just asking how he was doing.”

“Uh-huh.”

Dad’s eyes soften, but not in a way that makes this easier. He’s reading me like a book that was never meant to be opened.

“You sure that’s all it was?” he asks. “A little friendly concern?”

I force a small, easy laugh. “Yeah. I mean, Sam looked pretty roughed up. I just wanted to make sure he wasn’t dying in a ditch somewhere.”

“Raven,” Dad says as he steps closer. “If something’s going on, you can tell me.”

Panic flares—sharp, bright, unmistakable.

I curl my fingers tighter around my keys so he won’t see them shake.

“Nothing’s going on,” I say, hoping he doesn’t hear the panic under it. “I’m meeting Katie for some retail therapy. That’s all.”

A long pause. Too long.

Finally, he nods, though the doubt doesn’t leave his eyes. “Alright. Just be careful.”

“I will.”

He presses a kiss to the top of my forehead, the way he always does when he’s worried but pretending not to show it. It makes my chest ache.

“Call me if you need anything,” he says.

“I will,” I promise.

Then I slip out the door before he can ask anything else, or read the truth straight off my face.

The Miller barn sits crooked in the field behind the old orchard, its red paint weathered down to bare gray planks. One door hangs half off its hinge, swaying with every cool gust. It looks haunted.