Chapter Ten
The apartment is too quiet. The hum of the kettle fills the space like a warning, steam curling against the ceiling as I pour hot water over a teabag. My hands won’t stop shaking. I tell myself it’s from exhaustion, but the truth sits heavier: I can’t stop seeing the shadow peeling off that wall, William’s body blocking mine, the echo of his voice: scouts, Shane, mine.
I carry the mug to the couch and sit stiffly, eyes darting to the window. Rain runs down the glass in thin streaks, blurring the glow of the streetlight outside. I tell myself I’ll sleep, that tomorrow I’ll laugh at myself, chalk it up to stress. I tell myself I’ll wake Bella for school in the morning and everything will be fine.
But the words feel brittle.
I set the mug down and creep down the short hall to
