20. Talon

20

TALON

S itting in my car, I unzip the worn duffel bag holding my meager belongings. My fingers grab the photo album with a photo of Lena and me on the front that she gifted me for my seventeenth birthday.

It was the first gift I’d ever received and the most precious thing I own. Flipping through the photo album, memories come flooding back—the rare moments of lightness in our dark childhoods captured forever on these pages .

The first photo shows Lena and me as kids, sitting on the rickety swing out back. She’s grinning from ear to ear while I wear my usual brooding scowl. But her smile is infectious, and I can’t help the tiny quirk of my lips in response.

I turn the page, and there she is again—hair tousled by the wind, eyes sparkling with mischief as she points her ancient camera at me. God, how that thing used to drive me crazy. I’d duck and dodge, growling at her to leave me alone. But she never listened, always insisting on documenting every mundane moment of our lives.

At the time, I cursed her obsession with that damn camera. But now, as I flip through this album, I’m struck by a profound gratitude. These photos are all I have left of the rare moments of peace we found together amid the chaos and misery. Lena’s gift has preserved those precious memories, immortalizing our bond in a way I never imagined.

My fingers trace the outline of our faces in one particular snapshot—Lena and I sitting side by side on a park bench, our shoulders brushing. I’d, as usual, been in a foul mood that day, but Lena’s warmth and light had slowly melted away the ice encasing my heart. This photo captures that moment perfectly—the slight upward curve of my mouth, the way I’m leaning ever so slightly into her orbit.

I toss the photo album onto the passenger seat and lean back, running my hands through my hair. The decision weighs on me like a lead blanket. Boston’s calling—I must establish myself there before Lena arrives at MIT. Seven months will feel like an eternity, but I refuse to let her think I’ve abandoned her again.

Grabbing my phone, I pull up the feed from her bedroom camera. She’s curled up in bed, clutching the pillow I used last night. The sight of her tears makes my chest tighten. Three other camera feeds show different angles of the house—the hallway, living room, and back door. I’ve ensured complete coverage in an attempt to keep her safe.

My fingers hover over my burner phone. I could text her and let her know I’m watching. But that might spook her. No, better to be subtle. Opening my glove compartment, I pull out a small package wrapped in brown paper. Inside is a delicate silver chain with a bird pendant—matching the wooden one I carved for her sixteenth birthday.

I slip out of my car and move through the shadows toward her window. The Wilsons are asleep. With practiced ease, I scale the drainpipe and perch on the narrow ledge outside Lena’s room.

I watch her chest rise and fall through the glass with each breath. Carefully, I wedge the package through the slight gap in her window—the one I’d loosened months ago. It lands silently on her desk.

She’ll find it in the morning. She’ll know I haven’t left her unprotected. The pendant will remind her that she’s mine and I’m always watching and waiting. Eight months isn’t so long when you have eyes everywhere.

With one final glance, I climb back down the drainpipe and get back into my car. I have work to do—plans to make, traps to set.

As I walk, the darkness stirs within me, coiling and pulsing with a primal need. It’s a hunger only Lena can sate, a craving that has consumed me for years. But now, it’s more than just a desire. It’s a promise I’ll stop at nothing to fulfill.

Lena Graves is mine. My obsession, my salvation, my everything.

And I’ll gladly burn the world to keep it that way.