18. Seventeen

I squinted at the laptop, the blinking cursor a steady reminder of how little I'd managed to accomplish. A dozen books and journals on paraphilic disorders lay scattered across my desk, a disorderly mirror of my thoughts. I leaned back in the leather chair, pinching the bridge of my nose, but the mounting headache didn’t fade.

Minutes bled together as I stared at the screen, the words blurring. Even academia, my oldest refuge, offered no escape today. My eyes drifted, inevitably, to the worn leather notebook at the edge of my desk—a lifeline to the fractured parts of myself. The note from Azreal weighed heavily upon my mind.

I stared at the same sentence on the screen for what felt like an eternity, the words blurring together into an incomprehensible jumble. My fingers hovered over the keys, frozen in place, unable to transform the swirling maelstrom of my thoughts into coherent language. The late July sun streamed through the window, casting elongated shadows across the room, a stark reminder of the morning hours slipping away while I remained mired in this unproductive limbo.

Despite my best efforts to concentrate, my gaze kept drifting to the leather-bound notebook perched on the edge of the desk. Its weathered cover and frayed edges bore testament to the countless times it had been opened and closed, a silent repository for the innermost thoughts and struggles of the disparate parts of my psyche. The notebook was a lifeline, a tenuous bridge spanning the chasm between my alters and me, allowing us to communicate in a world that demanded a singularity of self that I could never fully embody.

I minimized the syllabus document and opened up my email, scanning through the new messages. One from the department head about budget allocations, a few from students inquiring about adding my class. Nothing pressing. I tabbed over to the encrypted messaging app the Laskin family used for sensitive communications. No new updates there either. I felt restless, my considerable self-control fraying at the edges.

With a sigh of resignation, I reached for the worn leather, the supple material warm and familiar beneath my fingertips. I flipped it open and my eyes immediately fell upon the angular scrawl that filled the page, the handwriting both foreign and intimately recognizable. Azreal's words stared back at me, stark and ominous against the creamy paper.

Valentine warned the cult might move out of the country. Keep your guard up.

The message was brief, succinct, yet it carried the weight of a thousand unspoken fears. I had read it before, countless times now, and each time made me more anxious than the last.

I forced my attention back to the laptop screen, my fingers tapping at the keys with a renewed sense of purpose. The words appeared on the screen, but they held no meaning, no coherence. I read the same sentence three times before realizing I had no idea what it said. My mind kept drifting, pulled back to the notebook, to the stark warning scrawled across the page in Azreal's unmistakable hand.

The silence in the house pressed in on me, heavy and oppressive. It was a palpable presence, a weight that settled on my chest and made each breath an effort. Eli's absence was keenly felt, his vibrant energy conspicuously missing from the normally lively space. With him gone at his apprenticeship, I was left alone, adrift in a sea of my own tumultuous thoughts.

I glanced at the antique clock on the wall, watching the seconds tick by with an agonizing slowness. Each passing moment felt like an eternity, a precious resource slipping through my fingers as I sat here, paralyzed by indecision and worry. The pressure of time bore down on me, a constant reminder of all the things I needed to do, all the people I needed to protect.

The shrill ring of my cell phone pierced the oppressive silence, jolting me out of my spiraling thoughts. I glanced at the screen, my heart rate spiking as I saw the name flashing across the display: Annie Laskin. Mom.

I swiped to answer, my voice coming out strained and tense. “Now’s not a good time, Mom.”

On the other end, my mother huffed. “Shepherd Laskin, what has gotten into you? I barely hear from you for weeks and then you don’t have time to take my call?”

“I’m sorry, Mom,” I said, switching to Russian to match her language. “I’ve been…busy.”

“What’s going on, Pebble?”

The old nickname made my chest tighten, bringing back memories I’d long tried to ignore. She hadn’t called me that in years, not since the days when calling her “Mom” had been a battle in itself. I wasn’t the boy who needed her apron strings for comfort anymore—but that didn’t stop the memories.

“It’s nothing,” I managed, hiding the tremor in my voice. “Just preparing for the semester.”

“Shepherd, do you think I don’t know when you’re lying?” she chastised gently. “Come clean now.”

I sighed. “It’s nothing, Mom. I promise. You know how I like my routine. It’s important for my mental health to stick to that as much as possible.”

She sighed on the other end, a sign that she didn’t believe the lie I was feeding her. I didn’t know why I was surprised. Annie had always been an expert at rooting out facts, especially when it came to her children.

“Shepherd, we're your family and we love you, no matter what's going on in that complicated mind of yours,” Annie said softly. “I know things aren't easy for you. They never have been. But shutting us out isn't the answer.”

I closed my eyes, guilt warring with the desperate need to keep my distance, to protect them from the darkness inside me that threatened to swallow me whole. “I'm not shutting you out, Mom. I... I need some space right now. To figure things out on my own. Things are complicated right now.”

“Story of our lives, isn’t it?” she teased gently. Then her voice turned serious again. “I know how important control is to you, but don't let it rule you. Sometimes the best medicine is letting go.”

I let out a slow breath, my chest aching. I knew she was right, as much as I hated to admit it. Control was my anchor, the only thing that kept me from spiraling into the abyss of my own mind. But it was also a double-edged sword, one that cut deep if I gripped it too tightly.

“I know, Mom. I'm trying. It's hard sometimes.”

“We're here for you, always. No matter what.”

“Thank you. That means a lot to hear.”

“Of course, Pebble.” I could hear the smile in her voice. “Now, tell me truthfully… Are you doing alright? Do you need anything?”

“No, Mom. But thank you for calling.”

“Take care of yourself, Shepherd.”

I promised I would and hung up the phone, a sense of unease settling in the pit of my stomach. The weight of the secrets I carried pressed down on me, a physical burden that made each breath an effort.

As I turned my attention back to the glowing screen before me, my ringtone cut through the silence again, making my pulse jump. I checked the screen and frowned. Unknown numbers weren’t uncommon in my line of work, but something about this one made me hesitate.

“Dr. Laskin speaking,” I answered, keeping my tone neutral.

“Good morning, Doctor.” The voice was low, almost amused, with an accent I couldn’t quite place. “I hope I’m not intruding.”

A prickling sensation crept up my spine. “Who is this?”

The stranger chuckled. “Names aren’t important, Doctor. Let’s not waste time. There’s something at your front door I think you’ll find... intriguing.”

Heart pounding, I stepped toward the door. The empty hallway stretched out before me, but my eyes landed on an envelope taped to the door, my name written in elegant, unfamiliar script.

I opened it and found myself staring at an ace of spades printed in gold leaf on sleek black cardstock. “What the hell is this?” I demanded into the phone.

The man on the phone chuckled, the sound grating on my frayed nerves. “An invitation to lunch at Echelon in one hour. My treat. And I suggest you accept. That is, if you’re still interested in saving your sister from that cult holding her captive.”

My heart stuttered in my chest. Daniella. How did this man know about her?

I gripped the phone tighter, my knuckles turning white. “Who the hell are you?”

The man tsked, the sound grating on my frayed nerves. “Now, now, Dr. Laskin. There's no need for hostility. I'm merely offering my assistance in your... delicate family matter. But this isn't a conversation to have over the phone. Meet me at Echelon in one hour, and I promise, all will be revealed.”

The line went dead, leaving me with silence and a thudding heartbeat. My hands tightened around the phone, my mind racing. This stranger—how did he know about Daniella? About everything I’d buried beneath layers of carefully constructed control?

I glanced down at the ace of spades, its golden edges catching the light in a way that felt almost mocking. The card felt heavier than it should, like a stone pressing against my palm.I took a deep breath, letting the cool air settle my nerves, but the weight in my chest only grew. I grabbed my keys, my resolve hardening. Whatever this stranger wanted, he was about to find out that I didn’t break so easily.