The Shape of Silence

Chapter Ten: Ivy

Allie parked along the curb, motioning for Ivy to get out. “We’re here. Thought we could walk the strip, window shop, fantasize.”

Ivy chuckled at that.

Allie continued, “Then maybe we could get coffee or something.”

They wandered down the sidewalk, past bakeries, bookstores, and boutiques, until Allie came to an abrupt stop in front of a wedding dress shop. She pointed at a gown in the window—ivory satin and layers of soft tulle, with delicate lace climbing over sheer sleeves.

“Okay, that’s almost perfect,” Allie said, eyes lighting up. “I love the skirt—super romantic—but the bodice needs a little more structure. And those sleeves? Gorgeous, but they’d drive me nuts. I’d swap them for something off-the-shoulder.”

She tapped her chin. “Tailoring would be a nightmare, though. I bet that hem’s a beast to alter. Still, with the right veil? Ugh. Iconic.”

Ivy smiled faintly. “You’ve definitely thought about this before.”

“Please,” Allie scoffed. “I’ve had a dream board since ninth grade. I know what works and what’s just bridal drama.”

Ivy found herself laughing along with Allie by the time they reached a small coffee shop tucked between a boutique pet store and a place that sold artisanal candles in mason jars. The bell above the door jingled as they stepped inside, the scent of espresso and warm sugar wrapping around them like a hug Ivy hadn’t realized she needed.

Allie headed straight for the counter. “One iced lavender latte,” she chirped, then pointed into the pastry case. “And that croissant with the almond filling. No—wait, the raspberry one. No, actually… screw it, both.”

The barista gave a tired smile and rang her up. Allie tapped her card, humming along to the indie music playing overhead like this was just another perfect Saturday.

She turned once her receipt printed, gesturing for Ivy to step forward. “Go on, your turn.”

Ivy hesitated.

The chalkboard menu loomed overhead in whimsical handwriting—seasonal drinks, gourmet teas, oat milk everything. But her eyes skimmed past the options and landed on the total from Allie’s order still glowing on the screen. Over fourteen dollars for coffee and pastries that would be gone in minutes.

She shook her head, stepping back slightly. “I’m good.”

Allie blinked. “You sure?”

“No, really. I’m fine,” Ivy said, forcing a small smile.

She wasn’t fine. She was hungry. But rent was due in four days. She still had to cover utilities. Her last tip-out had been short--shocking, really-- and she couldn’t afford to lose another dollar just to taste something fleeting.

You could eat her croissant when she’s not looking, Arden offered dryly.

We’re not stealing food from Allie, Ivy chided.

You sure? She wouldn’t notice. We could ask her if the napkins are ‘eggshell’ or ‘cloud’ let her go off on a ‘educational’ tangent, let her feel like she’s educating us on something important.

Ivy pressed her tongue to the roof of her mouth, swallowing the laugh that threatened to escape. Arden wasn’t wrong. Allie was already off to the side, stirring her coffee like someone who didn’t have a single worry in the world.

Careless, maybe. Thoughtless, definitely—the kind of person who’d drop thirty bucks at brunch without a second thought while Ivy counted out ramen packets.

But she didn’t say any of that. Didn’t let it show. Through all the flaws, Ivy still saw the fourth-grade girl who’d helped her out more than once.

Ivy smiled when Allie turned back to her. “Last chance?” Allie prompted.

“I’ll just steal a sip of yours later,” Ivy promised.

Allie grinned. “Deal.”

Allie threw open the front door of her house. “Mom! We’re back!”

Ivy stepped inside, the air cooler and faintly scented with fresh flowers and lemon polish. The house felt too neat, too quiet.

“Look what the cat dragged in.”

Ivy froze. That voice. Her stomach flipped, nausea curling sharp and fast. She could’ve sworn Allie said he wouldn’t be back until later this week.

He wasn’t supposed to be here. Arden growled low in her chest, the phantom sting of silver biting at Ivy’s wrists, at her throat, her back. Memories clawed their way up her spine, strangling her from the inside.

Allie darted past her with a squeal. “Jacob! You’re home early!”

She bounded up the stairs in a blur of blond curls and bright colors, throwing her arms around him like she hadn’t just invited a ghost back into Ivy’s life.

Jacob Argent stood at least a head taller than his sister, built in a deceptively casual way—like a coiled spring dressed in Sunday manners. His dark hair was neatly combed, skin just shy of tanned, and eyes a stormy blue that always made Ivy feel like the clouds were about to break.

He hugged Allie back with a short laugh. “Couldn’t stay away too long. You’d start redecorating my room again.”

“I already did,” Allie said sweetly. “But it’s mostly throw pillows. Don’t worry.”

Ivy said nothing.

The moment Jacob had appeared, Arden went still and sharp in her chest, no longer lounging but coiled, ears flat and teeth bared. Not wary. Ready.

Let me at him, Arden snarled. One jump. I’ll rip that smug voice right out of his throat.

Ivy didn’t answer. She couldn’t. Her throat felt tight, dry, her jaw clenched so hard it ached. Every instinct screamed at her to move, to run—but her body refused to obey, locked in the familiar freeze she thought she’d unlearned by now.

Jacob looked down at her. “Hello, Ivy.”

She nodded once, the movement stiff. The burn still lingered from the silver bracelet he’d slipped on her wrist as a gift, how he’d held it in place as she tried to take it off, claiming it was worth too much for her to accept. He’d watched her skin turn red in utter fascination, blistering under the metal as she tried to vaguely explain she was allergic to whatever was on it.

He’d always had a way of dressing cruelty in charm—smiling like a gentleman while slipping knives between your ribs. The kind of boy who could make you feel small without ever raising his voice, who knew just where to prod and twist so no one else would see the bruise.

And worst of all, he was good at it.

She hadn’t seen him in years.

But she hadn’t forgotten.

She was more than disappointed to see him back.

“I was just about to put on a movie,” Allie said brightly, clinging to his arm. “You should come with us!”

Ivy kept her face neutral. Her fingers curled inside her sleeves, nails biting into the fabric. Please say no. Just say no.

Jacob’s eyes slid back to her, lingering a second too long. There was no smirk, no warmth, no visible malice—but Ivy still felt exposed. Like he was peeling her apart from the inside out, stripping her bare with nothing more than a glance.

He’s testing us, Arden growled. Looking for a crack.

Ivy’s breath caught, chest too tight. She remembered that look—cold and slow, like a predator playing with its food. It didn’t matter that they weren’t kids anymore. Didn’t matter that she wasn’t that weak, scared girl hiding bruises under long sleeves. Her body didn’t know the difference. Her heart thudded in her ears. Her vision tunneled for half a second.

“I could go for a movie,” Jacob said at last. “Long flight. Might be nice to sit still.”

Ivy forced a smile. It felt brittle on her face. “Sure,” she said. “The more the merrier.”

Say the word, Arden hissed. Say it and I’ll end this.

But she didn’t. Couldn’t. Not here. Not in Allie’s house, not when one wrong move would cost her the only safe place she had left.

They settled in—Allie in the middle, Ivy on one end, Jacob on the other. It should’ve felt comfortable.

It didn’t.

The couch cushion dipped beneath her, but Ivy never truly sat. Her spine never touched the backrest. Her muscles stayed taut beneath the blanket, her breaths shallow and soundless.

Allie chatted over the opening credits, gushing about ice sculptures and candle centerpieces. Jacob responded just enough to keep her talking, but his eyes kept drifting.

Not toward the screen.

Toward Ivy.

Arden pressed up against the walls of her mind, low and coiled. He’s watching us. Too closely.

I know, Ivy replied. I feel it too.

Jacob’s gaze wasn’t curious—it was dissecting.

Her fingers twitched under the blanket, nails digging crescents into her palms. She didn’t move. Didn’t breathe too loud. If she flinched, he’d win. If she stared back, he might recognize her.

The movie played. Ivy didn’t absorb a second of it.

By the time Allie dropped her off, the moon hung high above the streetlamps. Ivy sat curled in the passenger seat, one hand white-knuckled on the seatbelt like a lifeline.

“I can’t believe he’s back,” Allie said, practically glowing. “He didn’t tell anyone he was coming early—just showed up! Isn’t that so like him?”

Ivy made a noise. It could’ve been agreement. Could’ve been nausea.

“I know he’s intense, but he’s really sweet once you get to know him,” Allie went on. “He just doesn’t let people in right away. You know?”

Ivy didn’t answer. Twelve years was a long time to know somebody and still be told you need to get to know them. Trees flashed by in a blur of shadow and streetlight. Her gut twisted with every turn of the tires, her fists tightening in her lap.

She didn’t want to think about Jacob. Not the way he looked at her. Not the cold, calculating weight of it—like he was flipping through files in his head, trying to match her face to something he'd buried.

Or worse. Like he already had matched her to something. Her fingers brushed over her wrist, rubbing it absentmindedly.

“I’m glad you came today,” Allie said, braking at Ivy’s curb. “Even if it was low-key. You know I’d go all out if I could afford it right now.”

“It’s fine,” Ivy said, already reaching for the door. “Thanks for the ride.”

“Happy birthday, Ivy!”

She managed a wave and stepped out into the quiet, her heart thundering like a drumbeat in a war she didn’t sign up for.

The apartment felt too quiet—just the low hum of the fridge, the distant bark of a dog, her own breath dragging sharp through her nose. She dropped her keys in the chipped bowl and slid the deadbolt and chain into place with a heavy click. Her fingers lingered there, gripping the lock like it was the only thing holding her world together.

That wasn’t normal, Arden said, sharp and certain. He looked at us like he knew.

“He didn’t say anything,” Ivy whispered, not bothering to stay quiet in the sanctuary of her own home.

He didn’t have to. I know what suspicion smells like. And I know what fear smells like, he knows something.

Ivy opened the fridge. Half a tub of hummus. Two bottles of water. Old rice. She shut it again, her reflection warping in the stainless steel.

“He can’t know what we are,” she said, walking toward the bedroom. “He’d say something. Wouldn’t he?”

Not if he’s smart. Not if he’s waiting. He could be watching. Testing.

The word testing landed like a blade in her chest.

She sat slowly on the edge of her bed, the mattress sagging beneath her like it, too, was bracing for something. Her fingers twisted

the hem of her shirt, the fabric worn thin in places.

“He’s Allie’s brother.”

And? That doesn’t make him safe. Predators have families too, Ivy.

She rubbed her arms. “He made me feel like a freak. Like he could see every piece of me I’ve worked so hard to bury.”

Then bury it deeper. Hide better. And stay sharp. Arden’s voice was ice and iron. You’re not wrong for wanting a connection with other people. But don’t mistake exposure for trust. That boy sees too much. And you already know how that ends.

Ivy closed her eyes.

Yes.

She knew exactly how that ended.

With blood on the floor and no one left to clean it up.