7. Freya
FREYA
T he hot air from the oven steams my face and I hold still for a second too long, getting lost in the burn.
The brief pain dissipates like it was never there and I shake myself out of it, making a conscious effort to stay in the present, in the warm kitchen overlooking the snowy slopes.
In the smell of brownies and the mess we’ve made of the countertops.
I’m okay. I’m still here. I’m still breathing.
I take the latest batch of brownies out of the oven and Samuel, Rebekah’s kid brother, stands up on his stool to peer over.
“Are they done?”
I put the tray on the breakfast bar between us and wave the cake tester in the air. “Want to do the stabby thing?”
Samuel nods, his face sticky with brownie batter. The thin skewer comes out a little tacky, gooey chocolate clinging to the silver. Samuel checks in with me and I give him the ‘okay’ sign.
“Perfect.”
“Awesome.” He plonks down on his stool and goes back to licking the batter out of the large silver mixing bowl. We make quite a team, Samuel and I.
I’ve been doing a little better lately. When Alistair told me to start baking, I was ready to question his qualifications but actually it helps. It’s hard to get lost in your mind when you’re following a recipe. Plus, you know, you get to eat cake.
So the baking helps but honestly, I think hanging out with Samuel helps more. He’s a riot and he’s got this little coif of hair that always flops forwards no matter how many times he pushes it back.
The kid is unbelievably cheery and young for someone who only recently escaped a cult.
It’s like he’s suddenly able to be a child and every urge he had to suppress is bubbling out of him in laughter and play.
Either that or it’s the constant sugar high I’m inflicting on him by making him my sous-chef.
I take off the oven gloves and rest my elbows on the counter behind me as Samuel licks his fingers.
Alistair thinks Sam gives me a glimpse of who I might have been if I’d been saved from my father when I was much younger. If I’d had someone like Rebekah to look out for me.
Alistair likes to draw comparisons. He also likes to ask questions. His favorite one being why did I run. I give him the same answer each time. To protect the people I love. I think he’s gotten bored because he didn’t ask that this morning. No, today’s question was what am I most scared of.
“Hey Sam,” I say, and his head bobs up, that little curl bouncing. “What’s your biggest fear?”
He shrugs his thin shoulders, his eyes dropping back to the mixing bowl. “Getting sent back to the compound.”
Fuck. Note to self, Freya, don’t ask traumatized kids what they’re scared of.
I push away from the counter behind me and rest my arms on the granite surface between us. “You know that’s not going to happen, right? Carmen won’t let them take you back.”
Samuel nods, his eyes creasing as he smiles. “I know. She’s even more badass than you.”
I let my mouth drop open. “Uh, insulted.”
He giggles and offers me one of the un-licked beaters as recompense.
“What about you?” he asks.
I pause mid-way through swiping my finger along the beater. “My biggest fear?”
He nods.
Taking a life. Becoming the killer my father tried to make me.
I shove that thought down as deep as I can and pull a face. “Spiders.”
Samuel shivers. “Ugh, yeah, spiders are gross.”
“Do you think they’d be more or less scary if they just had two legs and stood up like tiny little humans?”
Sam snorts, another giggle escaping. We go through different bugs and insects, imagining them as tiny humanoid versions as we clean up the mess we made and cut the brownies into ginormous squares. This kid has a serious sweet tooth.
After we’re done, we leave the side of the mountain with the kitchen in it and deliver the baked goods to what Samuel has dubbed the Hacker Hanger. A flash of sadness streaks through me, the name reminding me so much of Jude and The Lair but I push it down and paste a smile on my face.
Rebekah nudges Carmen, who’s sitting at a desk showing Rebekah something in the binary code on the screen. AJ stands behind them, arms crossed, on guard as usual. The rest of the team must be on break because it’s only the three of them in here at the moment.
I force a grin when they look at us and hold out the tin. “We made brownies.”
Carmen eyes me, wariness pulling at her brows. “Did you put weed in them?”
Okay, so maybe my grin looks a little manic. I tone it down a bit. “No, we did not.”
“What’s weed?” Samuel asks from beside me.
I point at Sam and lock eyes with Carmen. “That’s your fault.”
Rebekah pushes away from the desk and crosses her arms in an adorable impression of AJ. “Shouldn’t you be doing online school?”
Samuel shifts his weight from one foot to the other. “Uhh, food tech?”
Skepticism lines Rebekah’s face. “Shoo, now. Go study.”
Sam sighs and I slip him a brownie from the open tin before he slinks away.
Carmen spins her chair to face me and pulls a booted foot up onto the seat before looping her arms around her knee. “So, brownies?”
I nod like a bobble head. “They’re good. I bake now.”
Carmen chews on her lip, her eyes narrowing to slits. “You seem… better.”
Rebekah scoffs. “She seems crazy.”
AJ tilts their head, inspecting me. “Is that supposed to be a smile?”
“What would you know about smiling?” I snap, getting into a staring contest with the guard whose facial muscles barely tick, let alone stretch into a smile.
Carmen sighs. “Did you have your session with Alistair this morning?”
I turn my stare on her, any trace of peace I’d found while baking fading away.
“Yes. I did. We argued about whether I should have run or not and then he told me to do more baking.” I plant the tin on the empty desk next to me, the metal clanging against the glass surface. “So have some fucking brownies.”
Rebekah leans in to whisper to AJ. “Is this what being fine looks like?”
AJ snorts.
I don’t really think about what I do next. Anger just rolls through me, moving my muscles and the next thing I know I’m holding my knife up, ready to throw the blade into AJ’s chest.
I catch myself, my eyes widening.
AJ’s already moved, positioning themselves in front of Carmen and Rebekah, their gun in hand.
I go still and swallow the rock lodged in my throat. I peel my fingers off the handle of my knife and adjust my grip. My hand shakes as I sheath the blade at my hip.
Carmen moves to come towards me but AJ spins, stopping her with a hand around her arm. They keep their voice low but not low enough I can’t hear. “I know you have a habit of taking in strays, but she needs more help than you can give.”
Rebekah stares at me with fear in her eyes.
What the fuck is wrong with me? I don’t pull knives because I’m angry. I hate knives. I only use mine for protection and I don’t ever want to hurt people.
Except I did, just then, for a second. I wanted to bury my blade in AJ’s flesh.
Nausea swims in my head and I steady myself with a hand on the desk. The cool glass sends a shiver through me. If this is who I’m becoming, then I stand by my decision to leave. Being away from all things serial killers should be making me less violent, not more.
I close my eyes and take a shallow breath. When I open them, Carmen’s moved herself in front of AJ and I ground myself in her steady gaze.
My chest tightens. “I’m not fine. I know that.
” I think of the moments I’ve spent with Sam, the number of times he’s made me laugh.
I think about how I couldn’t get out of bed last week but now I’m making brownies and actually talking about my problems. “I’m not okay, but I am doing better than I was and Alistair is great but he’s wrong about one thing.
I did what I had to do to keep everyone safe. And I don’t regret it.”
My gaze is set on Carmen, but she isn’t the one who replies. No, the voice comes from behind me, cold, controlled anger threading through every word.
“Don’t worry, darling. You will.”
My whole body seizes at the low, dangerous tone. At the rage and hurt it holds. The dead parts inside of me burn to life, my core screaming awake. I crave that voice. I ran from that voice. And now he’s found me.
“Running has consequences, Freya.”
A shiver shudders through me at the threat, but I refuse to let it show.
Carmen looks over my shoulder, annoyance flitting across her face.
When she looks back at me, even through my blurred eyes her guilt is clear. My heart twists. “What the fuck did you do?”