Through the fog of illness, sounds from outside my room crept in. Bianca’s sharp, delighted laughter. Aldrin’s deep, amused voice. Sometimes the laughter twisted into something worse—soft moans in the dead of night, sounds that clawed at my chest and left me shaking. I pressed my face into the pillow, biting back sobs, forcing myself to sleep. I told myself my body needed rest. My heart needed numbness. I couldn’t afford to feel anymore.
But peace never lasted long in that house.
One afternoon, I jolted awake to a harsh, choking smell. Smoke.
My heart slammed violently against my ribs. I dragged myself out of bed, clutching the wall to stay upright, my legs trembling beneath me. Step by step, I made my way down the hallway and out toward the back garden.
What I saw stole the air from my lungs.
Fire.
Tall flames devoured heaps of fabric—my dresses, my books, boxes of memories. Sienna’s toys. Her stuffed animals. Everything reduced to ash.
“What are you doing?!” I screamed, stumbling forward as heat scorched my skin. “Stop! Those are my things!”
The maid wouldn’t meet my eyes. Her hands shook as she dropped another box into the fire.