Chapter 40
Kenzi
The house smells of cinnamon. That’s the first thing I notice when I wake—not antiseptic, bleach, or the cold hum of fluorescent lights. Just the scent of cinnamon from something warm baking downstairs.
I lie still, letting the softness of the comforter sink into my skin. It’s too quiet. I used to hate the quiet because it left room for the echoes. Now it’s different because this silence hums with life. With peace.
Outside my window, morning light filters through the pine trees. The world looks ordinary. Whole.
A week ago, it was all headlines.
Experiments Exposed. Government-Funded Program Shut Down. Multiple Doctors Arrested. Several Dead. Children freed.
Now there are interviews, press statements, journalists trying to make sense of it all. But the noise fades a little more each day, and what’s left is this home.
A knock sounds at my door.
“Come in,” I call.
Ember bursts in with too much energy for this early in the morning. She hops onto the bed like she’s six again instead of eighteen. “I made breakfast.”
“Cinnamon rolls?” I ask.
“Obviously.”
Behind her, Graham leans against the doorframe with Fenna in his arms. He looks tired—maybe because he hasn’t stopped hovering since I got home—but his smile is real. “She’s been up since five. I didn’t want you to wake.”
I smile. “I wouldn’t have minded. You know I can’t get enough of her. Or any of you.”
He comes closer, hands her over. Fenna squirms and giggles, obviously in a playful mood. I still can’t get over how much she grew in such a short period.
“You sure you’re up for visitors later? The reporters are already camped outside again.”
“I’m not talking to them. Not yet.”
He nods, the relief in his eyes unmistakable. “You don’t have to explain anything to anyone.”
Ember leans against my arm. “Is it weird? Being famous now?”
I chuckle. “If it means never seeing the inside of a hospital again, I’ll take weird.”
She studies me with that sharp, too-knowing gaze of hers. “They said on the news that you were brave. That you stopped everything.”
“I didn’t do it alone.” I nudge her. “A lot of people helped.”
She gives me a pointed, knowing look. We kept Graham from finding out that she was involved.
“I couldn’t have done it without Billa or Sophia,” I blurt.
“Still,” she says, looping her hand through mine, “you came home. You’re here. We all missed you so much.”
Something in my chest tightens. “I’m pretty sure I missed you more. Aside from Dr. Hanson, I was basically alone.”
Graham frowns. “We should have visited more. I’m so sorry.”
I squeeze his hand. “Don’t be. You did what you thought was best, and given I believed I was in the middle of a play, I might not have noticed your presence for a while.”
Graham clears his throat. “Billa texted. She’s heading over. Said she has something for you.”
I blink. “For me?”
He nods. “Didn’t say what. Just that it’s important.”
Before I can answer, Fenna tilts her head and pulls on my hair.
We all laugh.
Ember slides off the bed. “I’ll make more cinnamon rolls.”
Graham gives her a sideways glance. “There’s already enough for an army.”
“You can never have too many.”
When she’s gone, the room feels quieter again. Even Fenna is busy with a toy she found between the pillows.
Graham lingers by the door, studying me. “You’re really okay?”
I meet his eyes. “I am. Not that I expect a full recovery in a week, but I really do feel like all of the Radley stuff is officially behind me. It can’t haunt me anymore.”
He nods slowly. “That’s good enough, I suppose.”
After he leaves the room to take a work call, I stand and cross to the window. Fenna presses her palms against the glass and giggles. Outside, the front lawn glows with morning light. Several news vans idle by the new gate Graham had built, but I don’t flinch this time.
On the dresser sits a small wooden box Sofia gave me the day I was officially discharged. Inside are three things—a photo of all of us at the facility, the spool now charred and broken, and a folded note in her careful handwriting.
You’re not a story, Kenzi. You’re your own beginning.
I trace the words with my thumb as Fenna tries to grab the paper.
From downstairs, the aromas of bacon and coffee waft up.
I turn to Fenna. “Time for breakfast.”
She doesn’t respond, still distracted by the note.
“Let’s join the others.” I distract my precious baby with a crinkly toy then head for the spiral staircase and to the kitchen.
Billa enters just as Ember pulls the rolls from the oven. She crosses the kitchen and wraps me in a hug so tight it knocks the air from my lungs. When she pulls away, her eyes shine. There’s something grounding about her—that calm she carries like she’s been holding it for both of us.
Ember stands behind her, quieter but no less present. Our unspoken words are louder than anything said could be.
Graham steps in and greets her. “Everything okay? You look like you’ve been through a war.”
Billa’s lips twitch. “Feels about right. Now if I want to see my mom, I have to go to the prison. Half of my coworkers were arrested too. That could’ve been me if I hadn’t been involved in the takedown. Not that I really did that much.”
“You did a lot,” I insist.
Ember sets a tray of rolls down on the table like she’s hosting a state dinner. “I made too many. You have to eat some before Dad does.”
Billa takes one, smiling. “They smell incredible.” But I notice she’s holding something behind her back—a small, rectangular box wrapped in brown paper, tied with white thread.
My stomach knots for just a second as I think about the spool.
Billa nods toward the hall. “Can we talk? Alone.”
“Sure.”
We head for one of the sitting rooms. Ember follows then settles on the couch facing a fire in the hearth.
Billa sets the package on my lap. “It’s from all of us. Florencia helped, and so did Sofia. It’s… not exactly a gift. More like a piece of closure. I think you’ll appreciate it.”
My hands tremble a little as I untie the thread. The paper falls away easily, soft from being folded and refolded. Inside the box is a frame.
Behind the glass is a photo.
It’s grainy, black-and-white, but clear enough to recognize—a stage, empty but lit. The curtain is half-open. And on the floor at the edge of the light, a single cracked, white spool with thread spilling out and forming words across the stage floor.
We remember. We end it here.
My throat tightens. “Where did this come from?”
Her voice is quiet. “From the archive before it collapsed. Sofia found the original reel buried in one of the servers. It’s the last recording before the system went dark.”
Billa adds, “We thought it should live somewhere safe.”
I trace the glass with my fingertips. The thread in the photo looks almost alive, like it’s still moving. “It’s beautiful.”
“It’s proof,” Ember says. “Of everything you survived. Of what we stopped.”
I swallow hard. “I don’t know how to thank you.”
Billa shakes her head. “You already did. You cut the thread.”
The three of us sit there for a while, the fire popping softly, the air smelling like cinnamon and new beginnings. Outside, leaves rustle against the window.
When Graham brings in mugs of tea, Fenna curls up beside me and points at the photo.
I brush a strand of her hair from her face. “It’s over now.”
Billa nods, quiet but sure. “It’s over.”
We sip our tea and eat more rolls, and thankfully, there’s no tension pressing at the edges of the moment. There are no alarms, no codes, no secrets. Just warmth, and the soft hum of a house full of life and love.
Later, when everyone has retreated to their own rooms and the photo rests on my nightstand, I lie awake, staring at it.
The thread in the picture seems to glow faintly in the firelight, as though the story itself is still alive. Not in the lab, or the files, but in us.
And I realize the ending isn’t silence.
It’s freedom.