Bound - The Primori Academy

The Lie She Told

The porch light was still burning when Catalina pulled into the driveway.

She sat behind the wheel long after the engine had gone silent, her hands resting against the steering wheel as she struggled to steady the tremor running through them. The house looked exactly as it always had, warm light spilling from the kitchen windows onto the front lawn, wrapping the little white farmhouse in the kind of comfort she'd taken for granted her entire life. Through the curtains she could see Mary moving around the kitchen, drying dishes with the faded blue towel she'd owned for as long as Catalina could remember.

For a few precious seconds, nothing looked different.

It almost convinced her that the parking lot had never happened.

Then she caught sight of the blood staining the sleeve of her dress.

The illusion shattered.

Drawing a slow, unsteady breath, Catalina climbed out of the car and forced herself toward the front door. Every step felt heavier than the last, as though leaving the safety of the car meant admitting that whatever she'd seen tonight had followed her home in ways she couldn't explain.

The front door had barely closed behind her before Mary looked up from the kitchen.

"There you are," she began with an easy smile. "I was just about to—"

The words died on her lips.

"Catalina."

It was only her name, but the warmth disappeared from Mary's voice so quickly that Catalina's chest tightened. No one knew her expressions the way Mary did. She'd raised her from the day she was born. If something was wrong, Mary could read it before Catalina ever spoke.

"I'm fine," Catalina said automatically.

The lie slipped out before she had time to think about it.

She wasn't fine.

She wasn't even sure what that word meant anymore.

Mary set the dish towel aside and walked toward her, concern softening every line of her face. Her eyes moved carefully over Catalina, taking in her pale complexion before dropping to the torn sleeve hanging loosely against her arm.

"What happened?"

Catalina followed her gaze.

The fabric was still shredded where the creature's claws had torn through it. Dark, dried blood crusted along the edges of the rips, yet beneath them her skin remained perfectly smooth. Not even the faintest scratch remained.

She swallowed.

"I fell," she said quietly. "The parking lot was still wet from the rain."

The explanation came far too easily.

That frightened her almost as much as everything else.

She'd never lied to Mary before—not about anything that mattered. Yet the truth lodged stubbornly in her throat. How could she possibly explain a creature that shouldn't exist? Or the impossible light that had poured from her own hands? Or the stranger with golden eyes who had spoken her name as though he'd been searching for her his entire life?

Even hearing the words inside her own head made them sound impossible.

Mary studied her for a long moment.

Her gaze lingered on the torn sleeve, then drifted back to Catalina's face. Something flickered behind her eyes—recognition, perhaps, or worry too deep to put into words—but it disappeared almost as quickly as it had come.

Finally, she nodded.

"Come sit down," she said gently. "I'll make us some tea."

Relief and guilt tangled together inside Catalina as she followed her into the kitchen. Mary didn't press for answers. She never had. Somehow she always seemed to know exactly when Catalina needed questions and when she needed silence instead.

The kettle whistled softly a few minutes later as Mary moved through the familiar ritual with practiced ease. She reached automatically for the chipped mug decorated with faded pink roses, setting it in front of Catalina without a second thought. It had always been Catalina's mug. No one had ever decided that. It had simply become true somewhere along the way.

The ordinary rhythm of the kitchen settled around them like a favorite blanket. Cabinets opened and closed. Tea steeped quietly in the mugs between them. The old clock above the stove ticked with comforting predictability, measuring out the passing seconds exactly as it had every day Catalina could remember.

Mary spoke about little things while they waited for the tea to cool. Mrs. Jensen's golden retriever had escaped the backyard again that afternoon. The tomatoes in the garden were finally beginning to ripen. She'd found a recipe she wanted to try over the weekend if Catalina didn't mind being her taste tester.

Normally Catalina would have smiled.

Tonight the words drifted past her like leaves floating down a river.

She wrapped both hands around the warm mug anyway, grateful for something solid to hold. The tea tasted faintly of chamomile and honey, but she barely noticed. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw pale claws, impossible light, and a pair of golden eyes that refused to leave her thoughts.

"How was dinner?" Mary asked at last.

She said it so gently that Catalina suspected she'd already guessed the answer.

Catalina stared into the swirling tea before answering.

"Daniel broke up with me."

Mary's expression softened immediately.

"Oh, sweetheart."

She reached across the table and squeezed Catalina's hand with familiar warmth.

"His loss."

Catalina managed a weak smile.

Mary gave an exaggerated sigh before adding, "Between you and me, I always thought he had the personality of wet cardboard."

A surprised laugh escaped Catalina before she could stop it.

It was small.

Fragile.

But real.

"I shouldn't laugh." Catalina said.

"Why not? He'll never know."

The corners of Catalina's mouth lifted a little higher before the smile faded again.

"It's okay," she said quietly. "Honestly... after everything else tonight, Daniel almost doesn't feel important anymore."

The words slipped out before she realized what she'd said.

Mary's brow furrowed.

"Everything else?"

For one terrifying moment Catalina thought she'd said too much.

She quickly shook her head.

"I just mean..." She searched desperately for something believable. "Falling in the parking lot kind of distracted me."

Mary held her gaze.

For several long seconds neither of them spoke.

Then, slowly, Mary smiled.

"I suppose that would do it."

She believed the explanation.

Or at least...

She chose not to challenge it.

"You're exhausted," Mary said, standing to carry the mugs toward the sink. "Go get some sleep. Tomorrow will look different."

Catalina wasn't sure tomorrow could possibly look like anything except tonight.

Still, she stood and walked around the table, wrapping her arms gently around Mary's shoulders.

"Love you."

Mary hugged her back immediately.

"I love you too, sweetheart."

When Catalina pulled away, she glanced back from the doorway.

Mary hadn't moved.

She still stood beside the kitchen table, one hand resting lightly against the back of a chair as she watched Catalina disappear into the hallway. There was something thoughtful in her expression now, something almost troubled, as though she were remembering a conversation she'd hoped she'd never have to revisit.

The feeling vanished the instant Catalina looked again.

Maybe she'd imagined it.

Upstairs, she quietly closed her bedroom door and leaned against it, letting out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. The room looked exactly as she'd left it that afternoon, untouched by everything that had happened since. Her books remained stacked on the desk. Fairy lights stretched across the wall above her bed. A sweater she'd forgotten to hang up still rested over the back of her chair.

Normal.

Everything looked painfully normal.

She peeled off the ruined dress and stuffed it into the bottom of her closet before changing into an oversized T-shirt. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she slowly turned her injured arm beneath the glow of her bedside lamp.

Nothing.

No cuts.

No bruises.

No scars.

She pressed firmly against the place where the deepest wound had been, almost expecting pain to flare beneath her fingertips.

There was only smooth, unbroken skin.

Her body had erased every trace of what had happened.

Her mind refused to do the same.

Closing her eyes only brought him back.

The stranger's face lingered with impossible clarity, framed by dark red hair that caught the light as he turned toward her. More than anything else, though, she remembered his eyes. They hadn't simply looked at her.

They had recognized her.

And when he'd spoken her name, it hadn't sounded like a question or a coincidence. It had sounded like the end of a very long search.

Catalina hugged her knees to her chest.

She didn't know him.

She was certain of that.

So why did it feel as though some forgotten part of her already missed him?

"You're just in shock," she whispered into the quiet room. "That's all."

The explanation sounded reasonable.

It also sounded like a lie.

Unable to sit still any longer, she crossed to the bedroom window and pulled back the curtain. Moonlight washed across the empty street below, illuminating parked cars, trimmed lawns, and the familiar streetlamp standing at the corner. Everything appeared exactly as it always had.

She searched anyway.

Half expecting to find him standing beneath the light.

Watching.

Waiting.

There was no one there.

Only an ordinary neighborhood wrapped in a darkness that no longer felt ordinary at all.

Catalina let the curtain fall closed before climbing beneath the blankets. She turned off the bedside lamp, and the room dissolved into silence.

Sleep eventually found her.

Whether she wanted it to or not.