Chapter 8
Ella's POV
I drained the last of the orange juice and set the glass down.
The bread had no real taste to it, and the juice was the kind that came in a paper carton, with that faint plastic aftertaste. But I finished all of it.
Afterward, I looked at the folded stack of bills sitting on the counter.
I picked it up, folded it twice, and pushed it into my pocket.
Then I sat there and looked at the counter.
The juice had left a pale ring on the surface. The bread bag was draped over the edge where he'd left it. The bottle cap sat crooked, half-screwed on. He hadn't had time to deal with any of it before he left.
I tightened the cap, rinsed the glass at the sink, folded the bread bag and dropped it in the trash, found a rag in the corner and wiped away the ring.
Clean.
I folded the rag over the edge of the sink and stood there, looking at the small kitchen.
The pink toothbrush. The repaired pipe. The bedroll on the floor. The cooling patches. The cash on the counter.
None of it was something he owed me.
I'd grown up at the estate for twenty years, and everything there had always just been there — the radiators, the hot water, the seasonal wardrobe, breakfast on the table every morning. I'd never once thought about where any of it came from, or that it could disappear.
Now it was all gone, replaced by these: a pink toothbrush, a packet of bread, a glass of orange juice.
Different things. Same logic.
Someone had always been giving. I had always been taking.
I stood there, and my head felt very clear — clear enough that it was almost uncomfortable.
If I kept doing this — waiting for him to come back, waiting to be told what to do next, waiting for someone else to sort it all out — I'd be no different from the girl who got left on the other side of a closed door.
That girl had stood at the estate gate clutching her documents, the road ahead completely unfamiliar, still telling herself she had somewhere to go. She'd dialed a number. Nobody picked up.
I was done being her.
I opened the hallway closet and dug around until I found a mop and a bucket with a good amount of floor cleaner still left in it. The mop head was worn, but it would do. I mixed in some water, wrung it out, and started on the living room.
The floor was old industrial concrete, the kind with grime pressed into every crack, worst in the corners near the walls. I started at the couch, worked around the coffee table, pushed all the way to the end of the hallway and back.
Where the mop passed, the floor came up a shade darker. You could tell the difference.
When I finished the floor, I put the mop away and found a clean rag for the windowsills. There was a thin film of dust on every surface — the kind that settles in near an industrial district, carrying motor oil and grit. One swipe turned the rag gray. I went over each sill twice.
Then I moved to the couch cushions and beat them one by one. Dust billowed out and caught in my throat. I didn't stop until I'd worked through all of them, setting each one back in place when I was done.
I stepped back and looked at the room.
Not perfect. An apartment this old was never going to be truly clean. But it wasn't the same as before.
My body ached a little, and the hour of work had settled all the debt from a day of being sick right into my muscles. But my head was clear. That thick, muffled feeling, like thinking through water, had mostly lifted.
I went back to the kitchen, poured a glass of water, and stood leaning against the counter while I caught my breath.
The lock turned.
I thought it was Cade back early, but when the door opened it was Jack, a woman beside him.
"Hey, Ella's home." Jack grinned the moment he walked in, already waving, that easy over-familiar energy he seemed to run on. "Called it — I said someone'd be here." He stepped aside half a step. "This is Kelly Vaughn. My wife. We just got married."
I looked at her.
Kelly Vaughn. Wavy hair, low-cut top, denim skirt. She stood next to Jack with the kind of posture that knew exactly what it was doing — the angle, the weight on one hip, all of it.
When she smiled her eyes moved in a slow, loose way that made it feel like warmth without quite being it.
"Hey," she said, the word soft and easy. "Jack was just talking about you. Said Cade brought a friend to stay."
Friend.
I didn't care it. "Hi, Kelly."
"Where's Cade?" She asked it casually, already letting her gaze drift around the living room. "Haven't met him yet."
"Out," I said. "Back later tonight."
"Oh —" She drew the sound out a little, then brought her eyes back to me. One quick look up and down. "So you've been here alone." She smiled. "Good. Girl time first."
I couldn't have said exactly what it was, but something about the way she looked at me was uncomfortable — an appraisal that wasn't bothering to hide itself, like she was slotting me into a category she'd already decided on.
Then it was gone. She'd already turned to Jack and tugged at his sleeve. "Come on, I need to take my makeup off."
Jack gave me a wide grin and a shrug and followed her toward the bedroom.
I stayed where I was in the middle of the living room.
The bedroom door closed. It was one of those old hollow-core wood doors with basically no soundproofing, and it didn't take long before I could hear them — the rhythm of it, unmistakable.
I felt my face go warm. I took a step toward my room.
No. I'm just leaving.
I grabbed my jacket, eased the front door shut behind me, and stepped out into the hallway.
It was quiet out here. The only sound was the occasional clang of metal drifting up from the shop below — low, steady, like something the building had always made. I stood at the top of the stairs and zipped my jacket up, pushed my hands into my pockets.
My fingers found the folded bills. Still there.
Wind came up from the street below, carrying the smell of motor oil and rust from the direction of Rusty Fang, sliding in cold through my cuffs.
I stood there for a while. No particular hurry to go anywhere.
