Chapter 122: Glass houses
The villa was colder, despite the heat of summer hanging around the air like a warm kiss on glass. All the mirrors I passed were like sentinels, observing me. Not showing reflections—observing. I explained it as my imagination, that tension was warping the perimeter of my vision, but I couldn't manage to feel like something was lurking just beyond.
In the hallway, the old mirror by the stairs reflected faintly in the morning light. I paused, tracing the carved frame with my fingers. For a moment, I could have sworn I saw someone behind me—tall, dark-suited, motionless. I turned around. Nothing. My heart skipped a beat.
"You all right?" Caspian's voice rang up the stairs. Low and curt with worry. Weary.
"Yeah," I lied. "Just thinking."
He came, bare feet, button-down shirt in dishevelment, hair still wet from his bath. He read me too well, and I hated that I crumbled so quickly to his gaze.
"Another ghost?" he asked quietly, taking a step closer to me.
I nodded. "I know this is crazy, but. the mirrors sometimes show things that aren't really there. Or else things that really are, but shouldn't."
He grasped my hand and formed the curve of my cheek against his cupped palm. "You're not crazy, Lily. You're haunted. That's not the same."
Haunted. The term twisted in my chest and burned.
\---
Caspian put a second lock on the doors that day, heightened the motion detectors, and added an interior system that pinged both our phones whenever anything moved inside the house. It should have helped. It didn't.
Even with all precautions reasonably in place, I couldn't shake the feeling. of being watched.
There was a mirror in each of the rooms. It hadn't been an issue before. The bathroom. The hallway. And the one in our bedroom with the wee gold frame that I used to adore. I started avoiding my reflection in general, afraid of what else I might see.
I was saying my name at times, simply to create a sound associated with me. But even my voice sounded foreign in the echo of these corridors.
Caspian's eyes. He always did. He stood back, but not from me. He'd bring me coffee, brush a hand against my back as he walked by, offer small comfortations. He never made me laugh. Never asked me to hold on. He just stayed.
\---
I climbed to the roof around dusk to discover Caspian there. He'd set out two glasses of wine and pulled the cushions from the lounge chairs into a corner. The orange sky burned and glowed behind him. For an instant, with the wind through his hair and the glass catching the sun's radiance, he did not look like a man that had been drained by weeks of tension and fear. He looked like the Caspian I know. My Caspian.
He glanced up as I approached him. "You looked like you could use a break from the walls."
I sat beside him, folding my knees under. "Or from the mirrors."
He poured the wine and handed me a glass. His hand touched mine, and I didn't pull away.
"Do you ever think about who you were," I asked, "before fear started defining you?"
Caspian did not answer right away. He sipped his wine and settled back, eyes following the first stars he could see through the clouds.
"Always," he replied. "But I don't think who we used to be disappears. I think it just gets buried."
I gazed at him, the weight of everything pressing behind my eyes. "What if it's buried so deep you can't even see it anymore? What if all you're left with is this version of me that can't stop looking over her shoulder?"
He faced me then, really saw. His eyes blazed through the black.
"You're still in there, Lily. Just buried under the ashes."
My breath caught.
Caspian pulled in closer. His hand caressed mine, fingers interlacing with the soft solidity I hadn't felt in weeks. It wasn't flame, not yet. It was presence. It was the promise that I wasn't alone, even when the shadows deceived.
"Do you remember the night we snuck onto the roof of the museum in Florence?" he asked.
I blinked. A laugh escaped, small and real. "You said you could unlock it. We ended up setting off the silent alarm."
He grinned. "Worth it. You spun under the stars like nothing could ever reach you. I remember thinking I'd never seen anyone so brave."
"I need to find her again," I whispered.
His thumb brushed over my knuckles. "We will. Piece by piece."
We sat like this for hours, surrounded by silence and the facade of immobility. Stars stacked up above. I leaned my head on his shoulder. He kissed the top of my head quietly.
We fell asleep, holding hands, facing each other. Our breathing went in sync, slow and off-kilter. I did not dream.
\---
Morning came with smashing.
Not a metaphor. Glass.
The noise woke me up. I padded into the kitchen in my bare feet, Caspian trailing behind me. The air was filled with coffee and something sharp—wine?
On the floor next to the sink lay one of the crystal wine glasses broken into sharp pieces. The one from the previous night. A pink stain leaked into the grout between the tiles.
But it wasn't the shattered glass that stopped me.
It was the inside of the cupboard door above it—slightly ajar, beaded with condensation. And in the vapor, as if drawn with the tip of a finger, was one word:
Lily.
Caspian saw it, too. His arm wrapped around me of habit, holding me close. I didn't struggle.
No windows were open. No one had come in. The security system hadn't been compromised. And yet.
The kitchen temperature had dropped a few degrees. My breathing had fogged the air. Or maybe panic was messing with my head.
Caspian moved stealthily, investigating the cupboard. Everything in it looked normal. He took a photo of the message, then erased it carefully. "We need to speak to the investigator again," he muttered.
I shook my head. "No. Not yet. If he's still watching, if he's in there somehow, it could push him further."
"He's already pushed too far."
I looked at him then, really saw—the worry etched into his jaw, the tension in his shoulders. Caspian was also coming apart, piece by piece. And yet, he continued to try and hold me together.
"You need rest," I said softly.
He cradled my face once more, voice low. "Not until I know you're safe."
I shut my eyes. "Then stay with me. Not as my shield. Just. stay. As you."
He tilted his head forward and pressed his forehead against mine. "Always."
The word seemed to hover there, as fragile and fragile as the glass beneath our feet.
And for the first time in days, I trusted him.