Chapter Six
1291 Words
The first thing I felt was something heavy crushing my ribs.
The second was someone saying my name.
“Lia.”
A pause.
“Lia.”
Another pause.
Then—
“Aurelia Ashford, if you don’t wake up right now, I swear I’m stealing every hoodie you own.”
I opened one eye.
Helena was lying across me like she’d been thrown there by a hurricane.
Her blonde hair was a complete mess, one arm wrapped around my waist so tightly I could barely breathe.
“You weigh a ton.”
She gasped dramatically.
“That’s incredibly rude to say to someone who’s grieving with you.”
“I’m the one grieving.”
“And I’m grieving with you.”
She tightened her hold anyway.
For a long moment, neither of us said anything.
Then her voice became quieter.
“I came as soon as I heard.”
The joking disappeared so suddenly it caught me off guard.
“I’m so sorry, Lia.”
The lump in my throat returned.
I hadn’t cried at the funeral.
I hadn’t cried while breaking into Adrian’s phone.
I hadn’t cried after climbing into a warehouse full of dangerous strangers.
But lying there with Helena squeezing the life out of me…
I almost did.
Instead, I buried my face against her shoulder.
She didn’t say another word.
She just stayed there.
Eventually she pulled away and looked me up and down.
“You look terrible.”
I blinked.
“You couldn’t wait thirty seconds before insulting me?”
“I actually waited almost three minutes.”
She smiled.
“Personal record.”
A laugh escaped before I could stop it.
It was small.
Brief.
But real.
Helena’s smile softened.
“There she is.”
I rolled my eyes.
“Don’t get used to it.”
“No promises.”
She climbed off the bed and immediately walked to my window.
Without asking, she pulled the curtains open.
Sunlight flooded the room.
I groaned.
“I liked it better when I couldn’t see.”
“I know.”
She looked around.
“You’ve also turned your bedroom into a cave.”
“I was aiming for haunted crypt.”
“Needs work.”
She wandered around as though she owned the place, picking clothes off the floor and throwing them onto a chair.
“You know,” she said, “Mrs. Ellis threatened to make me clean your room.”
“I’ll tell her you volunteered.”
“I absolutely did not.”
She opened my wardrobe.
“You have seven identical black hoodies.”
“They’re not identical.”
“They’re all black.”
“They have different pockets.”
Helena turned slowly.
“I’m worried about you.”
“I’m grieving.”
“No.”
She folded another hoodie.
“You’ve always been like this.”
“I have not.”
“Lia.”
She pointed at the hoodie in her hands.
“You once bought the same one three times because the stitching was ‘slightly different.’”
“It was.”
She laughed.
“I’ve missed arguing with you.”
The words settled between us.
I looked away.
“I wish Adrian were here.”
It came out so quietly I almost didn’t hear myself say it.
Helena stopped folding.
“So do I.”
Silence filled the room again.
“Everything feels…” I searched for the right word.
“Wrong.”
She nodded.
“I know.”
“No.”
I shook my head.
“You don’t.”
“My entire life…” I looked towards the empty side of my room where Adrian used to sit whenever he came to annoy me.
“…Adrian was there.”
“He handled people.”
“He remembered birthdays.”
“He knew everyone’s names.”
“If we were at some ridiculous charity dinner, he’d disappear for twenty minutes and somehow come back knowing half the room.”
I smiled faintly.
“I still don’t know how he did that.”
“He was magic.”
“He was exhausting.”
Helena smiled.
“He was both.”
I let out a slow breath.
“I don’t know how to do this without him.”
“You don’t have to know today.”
She sat beside me again.
“You just have to get through today.”
I looked at her.
“And tomorrow?”
“We’ll complain about tomorrow when it gets here.”
A knock sounded downstairs.
Someone called Helena’s name.
She glanced towards the door.
“I told your mother I’d only kidnap you for an hour.”
“You asked permission?”
“I enjoy remaining employed as your best friend.”
I smiled despite myself.
As Helena stood, her eyes drifted towards my desk.
She stopped.
“What’s that?”
My stomach tightened.
Scattered across the desk were several printed photographs from yesterday.
The warehouse entrance.
The strange symbol painted on the wall.
The alley beside the building.
And one photograph of the man I’d seen walking through the courtyard.
Helena picked it up.
She frowned.
“Why do you have a picture of Damien Cross?”
My heartbeat stumbled.
“You know him?”
She looked at me as though I’d asked whether she’d ever heard of the sun.
“Everyone knows Damien Cross.”
She dropped onto the chair beside my desk, still staring at the photograph.
“Well… everyone knows of him.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means nobody actually knows him.”
She shrugged.
“He comes to school whenever he feels like it.”
“Half the lecturers pretend not to notice.”
“The other half are too intimidated to care.”
I frowned.
“Why?”
She gave me a look.
“Seriously?”
“I’ve been… distracted.”
“I’ll say.”
She tapped the photograph.
“His family owns Cross Holdings.”
I recognised the name immediately.
One of the oldest private investment groups in the country.
Old money.
Very old money.
“But that’s not why people talk about him.”
“What, then?”
Helena leaned back.
“There are always stories.”
“What stories?”
She shrugged again.
“Depends on who you ask.”
“Some people say he got expelled from his last university.”
“Some say he dropped out.”
“I’ve heard someone claim he spent a year travelling with a rock band.”
“Another person swore he disappeared for six months and came back with a broken arm and a tattoo.”
“Which one is true?”
She laughed.
“I have no idea.”
“So nobody knows anything.”
“Exactly.”
She pointed at the photograph.
“That’s the weird part.”
“For someone everyone talks about…”
“…there’s almost nothing to actually say.”
I looked down at the picture in her hands.
The sharp jaw.
The dark eyes.
The expression that somehow managed to look bored and dangerous at the same time.
The same man I’d watched walking through the warehouse while everyone instinctively moved aside.
Helena handed the photograph back.
“Anyway.”
“If you do decide to develop terrible taste in men…”
“…at least wait until you’re emotionally stable.”
“I don’t even know him.”
“Good.”
She headed towards the door.
“Keep it that way.”
After she left, the room fell quiet again.
I looked at the photograph.
Then at my laptop.
Then back at the photograph.
Damien Cross.
It was the first real name I’d found since Adrian died.
And for the first time…
I knew exactly where to start looking.
- Writer
