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Winnie: his light?
Me: His tracking light. It’s blinking. That means…
What does it mean? I didn’t ask if it would go out if the person, the host, were to die. I never thought I’d need to know a detail like that—why would I?
Me: He showed me how to use a tracking app. So I’d always know where he was. So I wouldn’t worry. But I’m worried, Winn. I’m scared.
Winnie: What app?
Something about those two words, the sharpness of the demand feels different. Off. Like it’s not my friend. My hands start to shake. However ridiculous the thought that I wouldn’t stutter in text, I’m rethinking that. Because I have to delete a handful of extra letters before I hit Send.
Me: Who is this?
Winnie: Christophe. What app, Truie? Send me a screenshot of his location.
I bounce over to the tracking app and play with the buttons, unable to capture a screenshot, no matter what I do. With tears threatening, I pass that information on to Winnie—Christophe—and wait. And wait.
Me: What’s happening?
Me: Winn?
Me: Please. I know you want to shelter me and keep me safe, but don’t lock me out. Not now. Not with this. Winnie, tell me what’s happening?
I pace in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows, eyes darting from the phone’s screen to the vast plane of unbroken snow and back again. A chill skates down my spine, wracking my body, and I turn back to the hearth. The embers are low.
Winnie’s ignoring me. For the first time since forever, Winnie is deliberately shutting me out. Not the well-intentioned filtering or softening of information. Not the screening out of the really bad shit. She’s taken away my choices, pulled them right out from underneath me, and has gone silent.
Gingerly, I set another log from the copper bin on top of the ash and orange glow, staring at the hint of life dancing amidst the darkness, willing it to life. I force myself to sit. To wait. To stare at the flames licking at the underside of the fresh piece of wood.
I don’t know how long I wait, turning over how I feel, and how I’ve stranded myself by being a slave to my own trauma, just staring at the fire. But as that flame builds, as it takes root and grows stronger, I steel my spine. I sink into the choice of panic or power. I take the small bit of confidence I’ve found with Teague and let it smolder. Feed it and will it to grow.
When the fire inside me burns as hot and strong as the one in front of me, I pull myself upright and make my way to Teague’s bedroom. I rifle through the bag he brought from the estate and find clothes he’d picked out for me. Clothes he bought and packed and brought here…for me.
I strip out of the oversized lounge pants and henley I stole from his closet and dress in the soft, carefully chosen items from the bag. Bralette and panties, leggings in soft pink and a big fuzzy sweater in the exact rosy mauve of the old cardigan that I always pulled close when I got scared at the L’Ourson’s house.
How? How is this the exact color of my comfort sweater? How did he know?
Realization slams into me, nearly knocking the breath from my lungs. The attention, the concern, the way he’s watched out for me since…since fucking when? Teague has been patiently waiting in the shadows for me to what? Find myself? Find my strength? My sanity?
I found those things in him, with him.
Through him.
And now he needs me to be stronger than I’ve been in a really long fucking time.
I hit Garrick’s contact bubble on my phone and count the rings.
On five, the line crackles and he answers. “Good afternoon, miss. How can I be of service?”
“Garrick, i-it’s me, Tru. I know you’re busy, but I need you to come get me. Teague said you know where I am.”
“I do, Miss Cochonette, but Mr. Grey asked that I do everything in my power to keep you in place. He feels you’re safest there. I’m sure you understand.” His tone is kind while his words true to Teague’s wishes.
But Garrick doesn’t know what Teague feels in this moment, no one does. Tense matters, and what Teague felt before he left his house in the woods this morning is vastly different from what he’s likely feeling right now. Going missing will do that. But he has me, and I know what it’s like to be taken.
“I do understand—”
“Excellent. Then do tell, what is it you need? The estate is quite busy at the moment.”
