Raya had always thought that returning home would feel like relief.
Instead, sitting on the edge of her bed in the Blake Mansion, she found herself staring at the open doorway as if she were waiting for something terrible to walk through it.
The room was familiar. The curtains were the same. The expensive perfume on her dressing table still smelled faintly of roses, and the little book she had abandoned weeks ago remained beside her bed, its pages untouched.
Everything was exactly where she had left it.
Except her.
She rubbed her palms against her thighs, trying to ignore the faint tremor in her fingers.
Grigor had gone downstairs a few minutes earlier after making her promise, twice, that she would call someone if she started feeling overwhelmed.
He had even threatened to carry her phone around in his pocket if she refused.
It made her laugh.
A small laugh, admittedly. Barely more than a breath.
But it had been real.
She wanted to hold on to that feeling.
