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‘I’ll leave now,’ I tell her. ‘See you soon.’

We hang up a minute later, and I move fast, my mind still racing.

Bag. Keys. Shoes.

Just go.

I rush toward Ash’s bed to grab the overnight bag I brought when I first moved in. My shoulder clips the edge of the dresser in my haste and a photo frame topples over, hitting the floor with a clatter. I peer down, trying to work out what the hell just came crashing out of it. It’s a small black device, about the size of a matchbox. A tiny red light blinks on its surface. For a second, my brain refuses to understand what I’m looking at, but then the realisation settles over me. It’s a camera. My stomach drops straight to the floor. Cold horror spreads through me like ice water.

I lift my eyes slowly, scanning the room with new awareness. I see them on the bookshelf, the corner near the ceiling, the vent above the doorway. How many are there? Is he watching me right now? My heartbeat roars in my ears.

He’s been watching me.

Not just today, but possibly right now, and possibly always.

‘Fuck,’ I whisper. Panic surges through me, hitting me in a dizzying wave. Clutching my bag with trembling hands, I rush toward the door, my breath coming in short, frantic bursts.

There’s a distinctive clicking sound and the front door opens.

I stop dead in the middle of the living room. Ash steps inside. For a moment, neither of us moves. His gym bag hangs loosely from one hand. His hair is slightly damp with sweat. He had errands to run today, so I didn’t think about when he would come home. His eyes linger on me before they sweep the apartment in one slow, controlled look.

The bag in my hand. The camera. The journal on the floor. His face stills. Understanding settles over his features with frightening calm.

My chest rises and falls rapidly, panic clawing its way up my throat. He quietly pushes the door shut behind him. The click of the lock sliding into place echoes through the apartment like a gunshot. Ash looks again at the journal before meeting my eyes. Something dark and unreadable flickers across his expression before his mouth curves into an unsettling smile.

‘Well,’ he says softly, in a tone that makes my blood run cold. ‘I guess you’re finally caught up.’

44

BRYN

Now

I sit on the edge of my mum’s lounge, coffee cooling in my hands. I should feel peaceful. It should feel normal being back here, but my body feels heavy, and my mind is tangled in everything I learnt about Ash last night. I keep seeing the cameras in his apartment. He watched and recorded me. He told me it was not to control me, but to protect me. Every lens, every frame, every angle … he was always there, even when I didn’t know it. Then there’s the journal, and his confession. I shiver.

He killed him.

I don’t know what to think. I remember Ash’s words from last night, and how those eyes I love so much stared down at me.

‘It’s time you finally listen to what I have to say.’

He explained everything about my sister: the lies; the horrific knowledge he learnt was happening in our house; how my own insecurity poisoned me, poisoned us; how he took action when I never did. He never chose her over me. He wasn’t cruel. He was obsessed with keeping me safe, keeping me alive. It was always me.

‘Say it,’ I whisper. ‘Admit what you did.’

‘I killed him.’

The words bounce through my mind; I can’t absorb them. ‘You don’t get to just drop that and expect me to – what? Understand?’

‘I expect you to hear me.’

Ash is calm and composed, the opposite of how I feel.

‘He wasn’t just hurting her,’ he says. ‘He was abusing her in cruel, unforgivable ways, and then she got out. He was going to you next.’

‘That doesn’t—’ I shake my head. ‘You don’t know that.’

‘I do. I saw him going into her room late at night, and I saw the way he looked at you. I knew what he was capable of.’