Ruth’s POV
I woke up with that same weight in my chest, the kind that sits there even before your eyes open. Emmett hadn’t said anything since the night before.
He had touched my face gently, like he was afraid I might break, then left without a word. No explanation. No comfort. Just silence. It filled the space between us, thick and uneasy. I waited for him to bring it up, but the morning passed with nothing but footsteps and the soft clatter of tools from outside.
I didn’t want to sit still. Doing nothing made everything worse. So I moved to the shed. The workbench was a mess. Screws, wires, a chipped cup full of nails, and grease-stained cloths. I started tidying it without thinking, wiping down the surface and organizing things into uneven piles. I reached to move a wrench when something shiny caught the edge of the rag.
It was a pen. Not just any pen, it was sleek, polished, and heavy in my hand like it didn’t belong in a place like this. I turned it, letting the light hit the metal. The initials engraved on the side made my stomach clench. L.R.M. I knew that pen, it was Lorenzo’s. He showed it to me at the gallery the day he asked if I took private commissions. He’d held it like it meant something. It had weight then too, just not in my hand. I remembered his voice, calm but persistent, and the way he looked at me like I was already part of his collection. He made me uncomfortable, even while smiling. And now, somehow, his pen was here in Emmett’s shed.
I found Emmett outside, stacking firewood like it was the only thing in the world that made sense. His sleeves were rolled to the elbows, arms tense as he moved another piece onto the growing pile.
“Where did you get this?” I asked, holding the pen up.
He glanced at it. “Found it by the trees.”
“That’s not something you just find.” His expression didn’t shift. I stepped closer, the pen still between us.
“Emmett, don’t lie to me. This belonged to Lorenzo.” He looked at me now, not angry or startled, just steady.
“Do you want the truth?”
I didn’t answer, I wasn’t sure if I did, but I followed him anyway. He led me back into the shed, past the workbench and the shelves lined with parts and rags. He moved toward the far wall and knelt beside a beam I hadn’t paid much attention to before. I watched him unlock a narrow door hidden in the wood paneling. The hinges groaned as he opened it. There were stairs. Cold, narrow steps leading down into darkness.
“What is this?” I asked.
He didn’t look back. “It’s the reason you’re still safe.”
He disappeared down the stairs without waiting. I hesitated, hand against the frame, trying to figure out what I was about to step into. But I followed him. Each step echoed as we descended, the air getting colder the farther we went.
The basement was bare. Concrete walls, a single bulb hanging from a cord, there was a tarp near the center of the room, uneven and bunched in places, like it had been moved more than once. Not everything was covered.
Shoes stuck out from one end, the corner of a coat sleeve. A glimpse of something metallic, a silver chain. My heart stopped. I remembered that chain around Lorenzo’s neck the night he grabbed my hand without asking. He wore it like a badge. I froze in place, staring. My breath caught in my throat, tight and painful.
Emmett stood beside me. “I saw him here. Three nights. Watching you.” I said nothing, I couldn’t.
My body locked up, I couldn’t move or speak. The tarp didn’t cover everything. I saw the edge of a sleeve, the chain Lorenzo always wore, part of his jaw. His skin was pale, mouth slightly open like he hadn’t finished whatever he was trying to say.
The air was cold but it wasn’t just that, the space felt sealed in with something heavier. My legs didn’t work right, but I stayed upright. I didn’t try to run, I didn’t call for help, I didn’t even look at Emmett until I heard his footsteps stop beside me.
He didn’t say anything for a moment. He just stood there, calm. I didn’t turn to him. I kept staring at what was left showing under the tarp, waiting for something inside me to crack.
Then his voice came low, steady, and without hesitation. “This is what I did for you.”
I didn’t answer him. I didn’t move. I stared at the covered body on the floor and tried to feel something clear. But all that came was a cold sort of clarity.
Emmett had killed for me. And I wasn’t sure if I was scared of him, or of how much of me understood.