No One Owns Me

Chapter 8 — Someone I Can Trust

The drive to Isabella’s address should have stretched on forever, every minute heavy with what-ifs. Instead, the miles blur like smoke, and before I’m ready, we’re pulling into the quiet lane. My fingers haven’t loosened their grip on her photograph since we left the wreckage; I keep glancing down, then up at the empty road ahead, half-convinced I’m imagining the whole thing.

Seeing her face—my face—staring back at me still feels like looking into a mirror I never knew existed. Seventeen years of thinking I was the only one, and now there’s someone who carries the same eyes, the same crooked smile, the same lost beginning.

Duncan drives slow, his gaze flicking constantly to the mirrors. I sit beside him, twisting the edge of the photo between my fingers. Ward’s car stays steady behind us, never too close, never too far. For some reason, that steady presence settles the tight knot in my chest more than anything else could.

Ward doesn’t treat me like glass. He doesn’t rush to fix things before I’ve even said they’re broken. He doesn’t tell me to calm down when my temper spikes, or ask if I’m okay when he can see I’m clearly not. He just stands there—solid, unapologetic, exactly what I need. Maybe I trust him too much, too fast. But after a lifetime of lies, it feels good to trust someone without overthinking it.

The road narrows between hedgerows. The houses grow smaller, older, set back from the tarmac behind wild, uncut gardens. Duncan slows to a crawl, and nods toward the end of the lane.

“That’s it.”

My breath catches.

A small white cottage stands alone at the end, its blue front door weathered by wind and rain. Roses climb the porch untended, and a single light glows in the upstairs window. Someone’s home.

“Isabella,” I whisper.

Duncan pulls over at the kerb. Ward parks right behind us. For a long moment, no one moves. The engine ticks as it cools.

“What if she hates me?” I say quietly. “What if they told her I abandoned her? What if she doesn’t want anything to do with the sister she never knew she had?”

Duncan turns to me, his voice soft but sure. “Then we stay. We listen. We give her all the time she needs. You don’t have to have all the answers right now. You just have to be you.”

“I don’t know how to do this,” I admit. “Being a sister.”

He reaches over and squeezes my hand—warm, brief, steady. “You don’t have to do it alone.”

A knock at my window makes me jump. Ward leans against the car, hands in his pockets, watching me. I climb out.

“Ready?” he asks.

“No.”

“Good.”

I blink. “Good?”

“Nobody’s ever ready for something that matters this much.” He nods toward the cottage. “Ready isn’t the point. All you have to do is take the next step. I’ll be right there if you stumble.”

I huff a shaky laugh. “You always have exactly the right thing to say, don’t you?”

“Only when it counts. The rest of the time I’m just annoying.”

“Very annoying,” I agree, but my chest feels lighter than it has in days.

He holds out his hand. Simple. No pressure. No pity. Just an offer.

I take it. His palm is calloused, his grip firm and unshakable. He doesn’t let go as we walk up the path, Duncan following quiet behind us, until we reach the blue door. Then Ward steps back, but stays close enough that I can feel his presence at my shoulder.

“This is yours,” he says. “But shout if you need me. I’m not going anywhere.”

I knock once. Twice.

Footsteps approach from inside. Slow. Cautious.

The door creaks open just a few inches. A girl peers through the gap.

Dark hair falling in a tangle over her shoulders. Dark eyes, wide and wary. The same face I see every morning in the mirror. The only difference is the faint scar along her left eyebrow—the one I don’t have.

For a heartbeat, neither of us breathes. We just stare, like we’re looking at a ghost.

She blinks first, her eyes darting to Duncan, then to Ward, then snapping back to me. “Who are you?”

My voice comes out barely more than a whisper. “I’m Casey.”

Her whole body goes still. The gap in the door widens. “I know.”

My stomach lurches. “You know me?”

“I’ve known your name my whole life.” She pushes the door fully open, her hands trembling. “They told me you’d come. Eventually.”

“Who told you?”

She glances over her shoulder, fear flashing across her face, then leans forward, her voice dropping to a terrified whisper. “The Crown.”

Ward steps instantly in front of me, scanning the road, his posture coiled tight. “Casey—get back.”

I follow his gaze. Three black SUVs are turning slowly into the lane. No lights. No hesitation.

Isabella’s face drains of all colour. “They found me. They said they’d come when you got close.”

“Inside. Now.” Duncan draws his gun, covering the road, while Ward ushers us both over the threshold.

Before I can step away, Isabella grabs my hand—tight, desperate, like she’s terrified I’ll vanish if she lets go. “I thought you died that night,” she whispers, tears spilling over. “I thought I was the only one left.”

I squeeze her hand just as hard. “I thought the same about you.”

She looks at me, really looks at me, and her shoulders shake. Then she pulls me into a hug—awkward, fierce, like we’re both trying to make up for seventeen years in one breath. I wrap my arms around her, and suddenly I’m crying too, all the fear and grief and loneliness pouring out at once. My sister. My twin. The other half of the story I never knew.

Behind us, Ward bolts the door and slides the heavy deadbolt home. He turns, and for a second his hard, watchful expression softens. He nods at me, a small, proud smile tugging at his mouth.

“You did it. You found her.”

I look at Isabella, at the way she’s still clinging to my sleeve like she’s afraid I’ll disappear, then back at Ward.

“No,” I say, wiping my eyes. “She found me. She waited for me, even when she didn’t know if I’d ever come.”

Ward’s smile widens. He leans against the wall, keeping watch, but his eyes stay warm.

In that moment I realise something I never expected. I don’t just trust Ward when things go wrong—when the guns come out and the walls close in. I trust him when things go right too. When the world feels like it might finally be mending.

And somehow… that’s the most important thing of all.