Chapter Ten
WE HAD SPENT yesterday getting much needed rest, and so this morning Zara had her usual energy back.
“Can we go outside?” Zara’s voice was small but certain.
The question caught me off guard. Outside hadn’t been ours to choose. With Gabrial, it meant an escort, a reason, a time limit, never just because.
Here, there was no one to ask. No one setting the clock.
“Just for a little while,” I said, though I wasn’t sure if I was granting permission to her or to myself.
We finished breakfast in quick, distracted bites, then stepped onto the porch. The air was sharp with damp earth and pine, touched faintly by the metallic tang of morning dew burning off in the sun. Gravel crunched under our shoes, loud in the stillness.
Zara wandered to the edge of the yard, crouching to pluck small yellow weeds, humming to herself. Malik stayed close, scanning the treeline in slow, deliberate sweeps, his gaze darting to the gaps between trees. Mapping, measuring.
I didn’t tell him to stop. Hyper-awareness was the only language we both spoke fluently.
The sunlight caught my face, and I flinched before I could stop myself. After years of Gabrial’s schedule — every minute claimed, daylight rationed into careful, controlled doses — this open yard felt like a stage, the sky too wide, the air too easy to breathe.
Footsteps on gravel pulled my attention to the side of the house.
Zeke came into view, not from the drive, but from the narrow path that disappeared toward the back, toward The Pit’s basement entrance. His walk was unhurried, but his eyes swept the yard like they took in more than they let on.
“Y’all gettin’ some air?” he asked, his voice low and warm.
I nodded, my throat a little tight. “Just a bit.”
He stopped at the bottom of the steps, then sat down like he’d done it a hundred times, forearms resting on his knees. Zara lit up when she saw him, weed clutched in her hand.
“Look!” she said, holding it out.
He leaned forward, eyes crinkling just enough to take the edge off their pale intensity. “That there’s a dandelion,” he told her. “When it turns white, you blow on it and make a wish. This one’s still yellow, means it’s feedin’ the bees right now.”
She smiled, satisfied with that answer, and went back to picking.
Zeke glanced at Malik. “You see that tree line back there?” he asked, nodding toward the wall of pines. “Couple years back, a bobcat wandered down from the hills. Took off soon as it saw me, they’re more scared of you than you are of them. Still, you keep your distance.”
Malik gave the barest nod, but I saw the way Zeke’s gaze lingered, like he was weighing the boy’s reaction, measuring his edges.
His eyes came to me next. “Quiet out here most days. Folks mind their own. Ain’t a bad place to breathe for a while.”
The words were casual, but the way he said them felt like more than just conversation. Like he was looking for the answer I wasn’t ready to give yet.
I kept my voice steady. “We’ll be fine here.”
He studied me for half a heartbeat longer, then pushed to his feet, dusting his palms on his jeans. “Good. You need anythin’ before I head off?”
I shook my head. “We’re fine,” I repeated.
He gave one short nod, then walked back the way he came. The low rumble of the engine rolled through the air, fading into the trees until the quiet took the yard back.
I realized then my hands were still curled around the porch rail, holding on like the ground might shift under me if I let go.
BY THE TIME we circled back to the porch, the sun was higher and the air felt heavier. Zara was dragging her feet, eyelids drooping in that way that meant a meltdown was coming if I didn’t get her down for a nap soon.
Inside, the cool stillness of the house wrapped around us. Malik stretched out on the couch, one arm thrown over his face. Zara curled into a chair with her bear. Within minutes, their breathing settled into the slow, even rhythm of sleep.
I should have slept too. God knows I needed it. But the quiet pressed against me in a way that kept my eyes open. For so long, every quiet moment had been filled with expectation, someone coming in, someone telling me what to do next. I didn’t know what to do when no one came.
I drifted into the kitchen instead, leaning against the counter.
It took me a second to realize what was wrong. No one had told me what was for dinner. No list, no instructions, no timetable.
In Gabrial’s house, that decision had never been mine. He had cooks and servants, dinner appeared when it was meant to, like everything else. I never thought about it, never had to.
But before him… back at the compound… it had been different.
Cooking was a skill the women were expected to learn early.
Bread kneaded in wide wooden bowls, stew stirred in huge pots, vegetables chopped with the same rhythm day after day.
There was no choice in what we made, but my hands had learned the motions.
The pantry door creaked when I opened it, the smell of dry goods and coffee spilling out. Cans of vegetables, pasta, a bag of rice, some flour, cooking oil. The refrigerator hummed when I checked it, eggs, butter, in the freezer a pack of chicken breasts still sealed in plastic.
Rice and chicken, maybe. Something simple.
I pulled the meat out and set it on the counter to, found the bag of rice in the pantry. My hands moved on instinct, the way they had back then, but my mind kept circling the same thought, this time, the choice was mine.
It felt small, almost laughable, but it was mine.
I glanced toward the front window. The yard was empty, but my eyes caught on the curve of the gravel drive, the way it disappeared toward the trees. I told myself I wasn’t looking for Zeke’s bike, but the knot in my stomach said otherwise.
Turning back to the counter, I measured out the rice. My movements were steady, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that sooner or later, someone was going to come through that door and take this choice away from me.
And I wasn’t sure what I’d do when they did.
***
THE RICE WAS simmering when I heard the low thrum of an engine.
I froze, wooden spoon still in my hand. It was distant at first, then grew clearer, rolling up the gravel drive.
Zara stirred on the couch, blinking sleep from her eyes, but Malik was already off the cushions, moving to the window like he’d been waiting for this. “It’s him,” he said, tone somewhere between a statement and a warning.
I wiped my hands on a dish towel, more to keep them busy than because they needed it.
The door opened with a soft knock. Heavy boots crossed the floor, then Zeke filled the doorway, silver hair catching the last of the afternoon light, pale eyes skimming the room before settling on me.
“Somethin’ smells good,” he said, his voice warm but easy, like this was normal. Like he walked into kitchens all the time and found women making dinner.
“Chicken and rice,” I said, turning back to stir the pot.
“Smells like home in here,”,” he said, stepping further in. He didn’t crowd me, but I could feel him behind me, a steady presence that was equal parts solid and dangerous.
I slid the spoon into the rice, keeping my focus there. “I learned when I was younger. Haven’t cooked much since.”
“That so?”
I nodded. “I didn’t have to.”
“Or didn’t get to?”
That made me glance at him. His eyes didn’t press, but they didn’t look away either.
Malik broke the moment, leaning on the counter with that guarded way of his. “Is it ready yet?”
“Almost,” I said, smiling faintly at him before turning back to the stove.
Zeke leaned a shoulder against the doorway, watching but not in a way that felt… predatory. More like he was taking in the scene, filing it away. “Got a little time before I have to head down. You and the kids need anythin’?”
“Not yet.”
“I’ll head out then,” he said, straightening. “Let y’all eat in peace.”
Something in my chest tightened at the thought of him leaving, and I hated that it did.
He pushed the door open, but paused. “You need anythin’—anythin’ at all—you come get me, or send Malik to the guard out back. I’ll hear about it.” He laid a piece of paper on the counter. “This is the code to the door in the basement in case the guard isn’t close enough.”
I nodded, not trusting myself to say more.
“I heard the basement door shut, the sound of his boots fading as he headed down into the basement, leaving the house quiet except for the soft boil of the rice.”
I spooned food into bowls, set them in front of the kids. But all through dinner, I kept catching myself glancing toward that door, listening for the sound of footsteps coming back.