“Dr. Cole, open up!”
The knock came again—louder this time. Bam, bam—like a warning, like a memory trying to force its way in. Camille jumped, heart crashing so hard it felt like it’d c***k her chest. Her grip on Ellie’s tiny hand slipped, palm too clammy to hold onto anything steady.
They were on that damn sagging couch again—Adrian’s couch, where the cushions dipped like the middle of her spine whenever she tried to sit still. The whole apartment felt... crooked. Too quiet, except for the weird ticking sound from the kitchen, and the blinds didn’t shut all the way, so dusk crept in like something spying on them.
It smelled like old coffee and eucalyptus oil and something else—something moldy maybe, like regret. Ellie’s crayons were everywhere, glittery little pieces glinting under the
