The envelope feels heavier in my hand than a piece of paper should. I stand in the hallway, breathing shallowly, staring at the words again even though I already memorized them.
You think Damian is your savior, but he is just another Thornton.
The sentence curls like smoke in my mind. Old instincts flare at once. The kind that once kept me awake in the middle of the night listening for footsteps behind the door. The kind that made me memorize every exit in every room.
Danger. Watchfulness. Doubt.
I rip the paper into pieces, small enough that none of the words remain intact. I flush them down the toilet, telling myself that destroying them will make them easier to forget.
It does not.
The message follows me into my dreams, clinging to the edges, whispering that I am not as free as I
