26. Frankie

As I lingerin the shadow of the cave, the thought of facing the day outside fills me with dread. Each step toward the light feels heavier than the last. Leo's hand is in mine, the only anchor in a tide of reluctance. With him, every touch and whispered word slices through the chaos of my mind, grounding me in a world that feels right, safe, and exhilarating. No fear grips me here, just the warmth of his presence—a stark contrast to the cold reality waiting outside.

As we step out into the open and tread back onto the sand, we silently grab our shoes.

"I hate to run, but…" Leo's voice trails off as he glances over at the field, a pensive look on his face. "Matteo will be wondering where I am." He leans in close, and his lips brush against mine in a fleeting peck—a promise of more to come. "Don't forget our coffee date."

Rolling my eyes, I respond with a noncommittal, "We'll see." Choosing ambiguity over certainty feels a little safer and less binding.

With a snort, Leo takes off, holding his shoes in one hand. He fades quickly into the distance, a swift silhouette against the sprawling field. I watch him disappear, then I take a deep breath, filling my lungs with the salty, fresh air of freedom and the lingering sense of solitude.

I don't have much time. Instead of heading back to my dorm, I make my way toward Bishop's class. My bare feet slap against the stone path, each step knocking the residual sand from my skin, scattering grains into the wind like tiny, lost memories.

Unfortunately, the farther I get from the cave, the more my old insecurities begin to creep up, attempting to cloud my mind. Self-doubt gnaws at me, triggering a cascade of unwanted memories right there on the path. These memories bubble up with a vengeance, engulfing me in waves of emotions I thought I buried deep—memories that should never see the light of day.

"Please, no," I whisper, but it's too late. They drag me under. As the present fades, I find myself swept back in time...

Wind whipsaround my face as I huddle in the corner of the train car. The chilly draft snakes through small gaps, chilling me to the bone. Across from me are other runaways, each a silent testament to hardship. Their faces are grimy, with fatigue etched into the dark circles under their eyes. I burrow deeper under the blanket—the only keepsake from the foster home I fled.

I want to say I didn't look back, but I did. Bishop helped me leave, though his eyes were full of the sorrow of separation. He didn't want to see me go, wished I could stay, but fate had other plans for him. He'd just been adopted, and in that newfound joy of his, I found none for myself.

There was nothing there for me. No friends. No parents. Nothing but the echo of emptiness.

The train squeals, a harrowing sound that signals our approach to a stop. Despite some of the others hopping off hastily to evade being caught, I remain seated. I've timed it. I have exactly five minutes to disembark and find a hiding spot before the cart is inspected.

My heart rate spikes, adrenaline coursing through me as I watch the others make their escape. It's smart to wait. There are too many reasons not to rush, too many risks.

As the train grinds to a halt, I push myself upright, clutch my blanket and bag close, and prepare. The sun beats down mercilessly on the barren desert landscape, heat waves rising off the sand in visible shimmers. Exhaling slowly, I gather my courage, jump, and land in a crouch, scanning the desolation.

We are in the middle of nowhere.

Staying close to the train is crucial. I plan to reboard once it's been inspected. A small station is nearby, so I make my way toward it, aiming for the restrooms. A shiver of unease travels down my spine, a sensation that hasn't ceased since the day my foster father vanished into the shadows I summoned.

Hyperaware of my surroundings, I step into the bathroom, rushing through my necessities to ensure I don't miss the train's departure. As I step outside, I encounter another teen lingering by the door.

"All yours," I mutter, intent on keeping my distance.

"Wait," she calls out. Her dark eyes are piercing, and her brown hair cascades over her shoulders. "How old are you?"

"Thirteen," I reply, clutching the blanket tighter to my chest, wary of this stranger who is only a few years older than myself.

"Runaway?" Her voice is soft but carries an edge, her lean frame detaching from the wall. Dressed in cargo pants and a black shirt, she doesn't fit the typical runaway image.

I nod curtly. Trust is a luxury I can't afford—not after everything.

"Want to make some money?" she asks casually, as though proposing a simple game.

I almost roll my eyes at the simplicity of her question.

She smirks, briefly flashing dimples. "I could use a girl like you," she continues. "What do you say?"

"I don't even know what you're offering me," I blurt out, my defenses prickling.

Her laughter rolls over me, warm yet somehow chilling. "I'm offering you a job. Pays well, and it includes room and board. What do you say?"

This has to be a scam.

"Come on," she presses, sensing my hesitation. "What do you have to lose? Nothing."

I really don't know what I have to lose if I'm being honest with myself.

"Come on," she repeats, seeing the flicker of interest—or perhaps desperation—in my eyes. "Where are you even planning on going?"

"I don't know," I answer, the uncertainty heavy in my voice.

"Exactly." She nods as if everything has fallen into place. "Do you know where you are?"

"No."

"Sedona," she answers. "You hungry?"

My stomach betrays me with a loud grumble.

Laughing, she grabs my hand. "Of course you're hungry." She tugs me around the building, her grip firm yet not unkind.

My eyes stay on her, curious and unsettled. Every instinct screams that this is a turning point, for better or worse.

I should have been more cautious, but I'm only thirteen, so when a hand clamps over my mouth and pulls me back against a body, I'm completely caught off guard.

"Shh," she whispers. "Don't worry, I'll take good care of you."

I've heard the lie before, and I know, without a doubt, it is a lie.

As the world fades to black, the distant rumble of the train rolling away is the last thing I hear. Then, nothing.

"Firefly."Bishop's gentle voice is followed by a hand on my shoulder. "Hey, firefly."

Blinking against the bright sun, I see Bishop towering above me. It takes several heartbeats to realize I'm on campus, not back in Sedona, Arizona. I'm okay here. I am safe here, and I wield the power now I didn't possess at thirteen.

"Hey," I reply, my voice raspy and dry.

"I was calling your name." He drops his hand, his brow furrowing with concern. "Where'd you go just then?"

I shake my head, unable to voice the dark places my mind spiraled into, when the veil of childhood innocence was torn away. She was not my friend, just another abuser in a long line of them. Her betrayal hurt the most, though, because it was the first time I realized that danger wasn't confined to men. It included the women who worked for them and sometimes the women in charge.

Suppressing a shudder, I force a smile I don't feel, but I need to move past this moment. "I read the book," I tell him, trying to redirect our discussion away from the darker corners of my past.

He clearly isn't satisfied with the change in topic. "You're avoiding the past again," he observes with a sigh. I can tell he's thinking back to the days when we were almost family before life pulled us in different directions.

He doesn't need to know what happened after he put me on that train, after we lost touch when he was adopted, and I was left to fend for myself. He doesn't need to know that our foster father, who seemed like a villain from a fairy tale, was nothing compared to the real monsters I encountered. Some days, the mere memory is enough to haunt me, replaying like a relentless nightmare.

"Perfect." He beams at me. "Think you're ready to attempt to use the cipher?"

"I am." I release a thankful breath, only to realize I never put my shoes on. Stepping off the path, I sit in the grass to slip them on. "I spent the night looking through it. I feel pretty confident."

"It might take us a few weeks to get through it," he cautions, dropping to the grass beside me, stretching out his long legs as he leans back.

Snorting, I tug on my running shoes. "Don't threaten me with a good time, Bishop."

"Well, shit, firefly, if that's what you consider a good time…" He trails off, his voice tinged with amusement.

I ignore the innuendo. Besides, I'm still sore from Leo. "You know I love puzzles."

"I know you do," he replies softly, his tone shifting subtly. It's a tone I recognize. It's the one people use when they are responding not just to you but to something else in their heads. I cast a glance at Bishop, who is gazing out over the campus, his skin glistening in the hot summer sun.

Here, he looks so boyish, so young, and all I can see is the lover who hurt me years ago, the one doing everything in his power to draw me back into his life all over again, and I can't help but wonder why.

Why push me away?

Why draw me back?

It's a push and pull that I don't understand. I understand sex, desire, and lust, but him wanting more from me than I can give confuses me. I know what he's doing with the cipher, but I'm too damn curious to tell him to fuck off.

Students move about, in and out of the mess hall, the dorms, and classes, while Bishop just sits and watches, and I watch him like a creeper who just can't help herself.

I can't.

Bishop intrigues me in ways no one else does. Even though we only spent a handful of months together as siblings, he was the first person to show me what friendship looked like, the first to teach me that not everyone is full of darkness, and then he put me on a train and told me to go—only to break my heart years later.

Maybe it was my fault, maybe it was his, and maybe it was beyond our control, but if I'm going to be near him again without a choice, then I need to know who Bishop Mercer is now, which means asking questions I don't want answers to.

"Why did you do it?" My words are soft, almost hesitant, carried to him on the gentle wind that swirls around us.

Bishop's head jerks toward me, his brilliant blue eyes unnaturally vibrant in the sunlight—too piercing, too intense. They search mine, seeking understanding or perhaps forgiveness.

His chest rises and falls with a careful inhale then exhale, the weight of the moment pressing down on him. He rolls his lips inward before licking them, a nervous habit that I've come to recognize. "Why did I…" He trails off, his voice a mixture of regret and hesitation.

I'm not sure which answer I want, or perhaps I'm afraid of any answer at all.

"Why did you let me go two years ago?" I whisper, the weight of years hanging between us.

Bishop's gaze drops, his silence stretching out before he finally speaks, each word heavy with unspoken regret. "Sometimes, firefly, we hurt those we love out of necessity—the cruel choice between two devastating paths."

There is so much to unpack there. Firstly, he just claimed to love me, and secondly, he suggested he didn't have a choice. Looking away, I roll those two notions over and over in my mind, like smooth stones in a tumultuous sea.

I don't know what love is. I'm not sure I even know what real relationships or friendships look like. I have nothing to compare it to—no parents who offered me unconditional love, no siblings. I have nothing but my shadows.

I suppose I love my shadows unconditionally, but is it real? Can one truly love something as intangible and fleeting as shadows?

"Come on." I stand up, brushing bits of grass off my clothes—a mundane action that helps ground me. "We have a cipher to decode."

"That we do," Bishop murmurs, his voice low and resonant with an undercurrent of something unreadable.

I begin to walk away, my steps measured, reflecting the cautious peace I've brokered with myself about our situation. I'm not his biggest fan, not by a long shot, but for right now, I can coexist beside him while delving into these ancient texts. My mind can engage in puzzles, even if my heart remains wary, shielded by layers of doubt and past betrayals.