Chapter Twenty-Three
THE BELL ABOVE the door chimed soft and familiar, the sound settling into the space the way it always did, gentle, even, and for a second I let myself breathe with it, letting the quiet of the shop wrap around me in a way nothing else had managed to since the night before.
Patina and Pearl had always felt like mine in a way nothing else ever had, every rack, every piece, every carefully placed detail something I’d chosen and understood, and usually that was enough to ground me, enough to take the edge off everything else pressing in.
Today, it wasn’t.
“Coming!” I called automatically, setting aside the dress I’d been adjusting as I stepped out from behind the rack, my hands brushing lightly over the fabric like I could smooth myself out the same way.
And then I saw them.
Lucy came in first, her energy filling the space like it belonged there, bright and curious as her gaze moved over everything at once, already taking it in, already impressed whether she said it out loud or not, and right behind her—Zeynep.
My chest tightened before I could stop it, not because I didn’t know she’d come, Lucy had said they would, but because knowing and seeing were two very different things, and standing there in my shop, in my space, Zeynep felt closer somehow, more real in a way that made everything tied to her harder to ignore.
“Evie,” Lucy said, smiling as she stepped further inside. “I told you we’d show up.”
“You did,” I answered, forcing a small smile as I moved toward them, my voice calm even if my pulse wasn’t. “I’m glad you did.”
Lucy glanced around again, her expression lighting up even more. “Okay, this is even better than I pictured. You did all this?”
“Yeah,” I said, the answer coming easier this time. “It’s kind of my thing.”
“It’s more than a thing,” she said, already drifting toward a rack, her fingers brushing over a line of dresses as she shook her head. “It’s a problem for my bank account, that’s what it is.”
That pulled a small, real laugh out of me before I could stop it, easing the tension just a fraction, while Zeynep’s smile stayed softer, quieter, her gaze moving more carefully over the shop, taking things in piece by piece instead of all at once, and when her eyes came back to me, there was something there, something observant, something that felt like she saw more than she was saying.
“This place looks like you,” she said gently, and the words landed deeper than they should have.
“Thank you,” I said, quieter now.
Lucy held up a vintage leather dress, already halfway lost in her own excitement. “Tell me you’ve got a fitting room, because I am absolutely trying this on.”
“Back there,” I said, pointing, more grateful than I should’ve been for the shift, for the movement, for something normal to hold onto, and she disappeared without hesitation, leaving me alone with Zeynep in a quiet that felt heavier than it should have.
“You stay busy,” she said after a moment, her voice still soft but carrying something more now, something careful, like she was picking up on things I hadn’t said out loud.
I nodded, folding my arms loosely, more for something to do than anything else. “Some days more than others, but it pays the bills.”
Her gaze lingered on me a second longer than it needed to, steady without being intrusive, and then she turned slightly, beginning to browse.
“Where do you find all this?” she asked.
“Estate sales, yard sales, auctions.”
“It feels like treasure hunting.”
“That’s exactly what it is,” I said, a little more easily. “At least to me.”
She paused at a display, her fingers brushing lightly over a porcelain figurine while her other hand drifted absently to her stomach in a small, protective motion that looked unconscious, grounding in a way I couldn’t ignore.
“My mother used to say,” she continued after a moment, her tone thoughtful, “when something follows you home, it’s because it isn’t finished with you… and sometimes you don’t realize what you’re part of until it’s already too late to step out of it.”
The words settled wrong, too close in a way I couldn’t explain, my breath catching just slightly as I held her gaze, because it didn’t feel like she was talking about objects anymore, even though nothing in her expression gave that away.
“I’ve heard things like that,” I said finally, forcing a small shrug even as my pulse ticked up. “Haunted items, dolls… things people don’t want to let go of.”
Her gaze lingered just a second longer, not accusing, not suspicious, just… curious, in a way that didn’t make sense.
Lucy’s voice broke through from the back before anything else could be said. “Evie, I need your opinion immediately!”
Relief came faster than it should have, and I moved toward the fitting room, leaning against the frame as Lucy turned in front of the mirror.
“It looks good on you,” I said.
Zeynep nodded behind me. “It definitely screams Lucy.”
“Spinner’s gonna love it,” Lucy said, already sold.
“I would shop for clothes,” Zeynep added as she drifted back toward the displays, “but being pregnant I’ll just keep getting bigger… those ballerina figurines, though, I’ll be leaving with those.”
“Take your time,” I said. “If you need anything, just let me know.”
I turned back toward the counter, picking up the dress I’d been working on earlier, my hands moving automatically, smoothing fabric that didn’t need smoothing, but my attention didn’t stay there, because it kept drifting back, to Lucy, to Zeynep, to the way her hand had rested over her stomach without thinking, to the quiet steadiness in her voice, to how easily they fit here in a world that didn’t feel complicated to them, and the longer I stood there watching, the harder it was to ignore what was settling in underneath everything else, not loud or dramatic, just unavoidable, because whatever Drago had planned, whatever I’d stepped into, it wasn’t something I could pretend would go away.
***
CLOSING THE SHOP took longer than it should have, not because there was more to do but because I kept stopping, my hands moving through the motions, folding, straightening, locking the register, flipping signs, while my mind stayed somewhere else entirely, circling the same thoughts over and over like if I turned them enough times they might land differently, even though they never did.
By the time I flipped the sign to closed and locked the front door, the street outside had already gone quiet, late afternoon slipping into evening in that slow, creeping way that made everything feel more final than it should have, and I stood there for a second with my hand still resting on the lock, staring out through the glass like I might change my mind, even though I already knew I wouldn’t.
I couldn’t.
The drive home blurred into something I couldn’t fully hold onto, just the feel of my hands gripping the wheel too tight and my thoughts running too fast to catch, the weight of what I was about to do pressing heavier with every mile until, by the time I pulled into the driveway, it had settled into something solid, something real, something I couldn’t ignore anymore.
Inside, the house felt the same as it always did, quiet, familiar, safe, or at least it used to, before everything shifted into something I didn’t recognize anymore, and I didn’t give myself time to sit with that, didn’t let myself think too hard about what it meant, because I knew if I did, I wouldn’t move, and I had to move.
I went straight to my room, grabbing my bag and dropping it onto the bed, my movements quicker now, more focused, because if I slowed down, even for a second, I was going to start thinking about what I was leaving behind, about him, and I couldn’t afford that, not if I actually wanted to walk out of here.
I moved through it on instinct, pulling clothes from drawers, grabbing toiletries, folding without really seeing what I was doing, just knowing I needed to keep going, needed to get out before something stopped me, before I stopped me, and even though my hands weren’t as steady as I wanted them to be, they didn’t hesitate, didn’t give me time to second-guess anything.
The bag filled faster than it should have, or maybe time just wasn’t moving right, stretching and compressing in ways that made it impossible to track, and when I zipped it shut, I stood there for a second, staring at it like it didn’t belong to me, like this wasn’t really happening, before my gaze shifted toward the nightstand, landing on the pen and the paper like I’d known all along I wasn’t getting out of this without one last thing.
The note.
I crossed the room slower this time, the urgency from before giving way to something heavier as I sat on the edge of the bed, the pen settling into my hand with more weight than it should have, my eyes fixed on the blank page for too long as I thought about not writing it, about just leaving and letting silence do the rest, even though I knew that wasn’t an option.
He’d come looking.
Of course he would.
So I wrote, not everything, not even close, just enough, enough to make him stay away, enough to keep him safe, even if it meant he’d hate me for it, and when I finished, I folded it carefully and set it where he’d see it, where he wouldn’t miss it when he came by, because that part wasn’t even a question, even if the thought of it pressed something sharp into my chest that I didn’t have time to deal with.
I stood, grabbed my bag, and forced myself toward the door before whatever nerve I had left slipped out from under me, my grip tightening on the strap as I stepped into the hallway, already turning toward the front, and that was when something shifted.
It wasn’t loud, wasn’t obvious, just a subtle wrongness that slid into place like something I should have noticed sooner, the air heavier than it should have been, the house too still in a way that didn’t feel empty anymore, and I slowed without meaning to, my gaze moving over the hallway, over the corners and the walls and the familiar spaces.