Page 72 of Relapse

Probably should’ve found my shoes before bolting from the Thorne estate.

Too late for that. Too late for a lot of things.

Silas’s uncle had seen me leave. Not just seen me—clocked me. The look on his face had shifted from surprise at Silas’s protection quickly. His look was the definition of intent. Like he was already looking into the future and deciding how much damage he could do and still call it an accident.

He’d never liked me. Never hidden it, either. Him finding me there was more fuel to the fire, and my cocky attitude hadn’t helped. I could see that now, reflecting back on the evening and how it played out now that most of the drugs had left my system.

The question wasn’t whether he’d tell Damian about me showing up there. It was whether he’d bother, or come after me himself.

I snorted under my breath. One way or another, this night wasn’t ending quietly.

My phone buzzed again. I glanced down.

Don’t tell them.

I stopped walking.

Silas didn’t need to explain. What he was really saying was: Don’t tell your family it was me who tried to assassinate your father.

My jaw tightened. Like that was even a choice. He had left me in shambles. Literally.

I typed fast.

Stop texting me.

My trust in him had been severed, and I never pegged myself to be the type who would feel betrayed by someone like Silas, but here I was. I should just fucking block his number, but I couldn’t bring myself to sever our communication in that way. Not yet.

The mansion gates loomed ahead. My phone buzzed again. I ignored it.

That’s when I saw the color—red—curled on the lounge bench in my mother’s garden terrace, tucked away behind some of the flower bushes.

“Delane?” I called, lifting my hand in a sad attempt at a wave. I had missed her so much.

She looked up at the sound of my voice.

I broke into a run, excitedly, relief flaring for half a heartbeat before I got closer and saw her face.

“De—”

I stopped cold. She was crying.

I crossed the last few steps fast. “Hey, are you okay?”

She stood, shaking like she might fold in half.

“Something terrible has happened,” she whispered.

My chest tightened. I studied her face, hoping I could discover the source of her misery. Dread crawled up my spine. I held my breath, stupidly hoping silence might soften whatever was coming.

She didn’t answer.

She sobbed and fell into me.

For a second, I froze. Then, acting on reflex, my arms closed around her, pulling her tight. She pressed her face into my shoulder, her tears cold against my skin.

“Delane…” I rested my chin in her hair, wishing, uselessly, that I could erase the pain that was shaking her apart. “What happened?”

She shook her head, crying harder.