Scarlet
I didn’t mean to look at the clock when it struck six.
It just happened—my eyes flicked up from the vial resting in the center of my desk, and there it was. A glowing red 6:00 PM, stared at me like a cruel countdown.
I had been pacing for the last hour like some kind of trapped animal, looping the same stretch of floor between my bed and the window over and over until the carpet started to wear. My thoughts were a tornado—fast, messy, destructive. I had picked up the vial at least seventeen times. Turned it over in my hands. Stared at the way Damien’s blood shimmered faintly under the light like it was alive, like it knew what it was meant for.
And each time, I’d set it back down. Hard. Like punishing myself for even considering what came next.
I wasn’t going.
I kept telling
