Chapter 58

Chapter 58
The tea had gone cold in her hands.

Joy sat at the kitchen table, staring down at the pale liquid like it might offer her answers. It didn't. The mug trembled slightly between her fingers, though she tried to steady it.

Elsa lay under the table now, belly full and stretched out lazily like nothing in the world had changed. But Joy's world had shifted again—by inches, maybe, but that was all it ever took with him.

Her phone sat on the counter, sealed in a clear evidence bag, just where she'd dropped it last night.

It was her phone.

The exact one she'd tossed in a trash bin at the airport, hands shaking, breath shallow, hoping it would be enough to disappear.

But here it was.

No sender. No message. No explanation.

And yet—it said everything.

Joy felt it in her stomach first, like a drop of ice. Then in her chest. Then her breathing changed. Not dramatic. Not loud. But tighter. Shorter. Her hands clutched the mug like it was her anchor to the present.

He knows.

He was watching. Not from across the street. Not through the window.

But worse.

He was watching in ways she couldn't see, couldn't understand—watching in silence, from shadows she hadn't even known to fear yet.

Grandma bustled in again, still in her morning robe, holding a small jar of honey and talking about something she'd read in the newspaper. Something about rabbits being able to detect earthquakes early. Joy smiled faintly. Nodded when she was supposed to.

But her heart was still pacing.

And her mind was screaming.

She excused herself gently, told Grandma she needed a bath. She left the tea untouched, the smile behind, and climbed the stairs with slow, mechanical steps.

Inside her room, she shut the door and leaned her back against it.

Her eyes locked onto the window.

Curtains drawn. Locked. Nothing unusual.

But still, the silence pressed against her chest like a hand.

She sat on the edge of the bed and stared at her fingers.

How long did she have?

Was this a warning?

A countdown?

She clutched her arms and exhaled through her teeth.

She wasn't going to cry. Not again.

Not for him.

But that part of her that never truly healed—the one that still flinched at the creak of certain doors or the sound of boots on tile—told her the truth she didn't want to hear:

He was coming.

Maybe not today. Maybe not tomorrow.

But soon.

And when he did, there wouldn't be a second package.

Just him.

The water was scalding.

Joy didn't even notice until steam was fogging the mirror. She turned the tap down, splashed cold water over her face, and stared at her reflection.

She looked normal. That was the terrifying part.

No marks. No bruises. No signs of the panic curling inside her ribs like smoke.

But he knew where she was.

And Joy knew what that meant—Adrik didn't just send a message.

He sent a promise.

She pulled her shirt back on and dried her face, forcing herself to breathe slow, even breaths. She could panic later. Not now. Not here.

When she stepped out of the bathroom, Grandma was in the hallway waiting for her. She held a basket of laundry, but her eyes were narrowed, fixed on Joy's face.

"Your tea's getting cold," she said, casually. "And you look like you've seen a ghost."

Joy offered a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "Just tired."

Grandma didn't say anything for a moment. Then she stepped closer and gently touched Joy's cheek. "You're not alone here, baby. Whatever it is, you talk to me."

Joy looked down.

"I know," she whispered.

"Good." Grandma kissed her forehead, then added with a playful smirk, "You've got Elsa, me, and a six-foot-two awkward deer of a boy downstairs who would probably try to fight a tree if he thought it looked at you funny."

Joy huffed a soft laugh. "He's not that awkward."

Grandma raised a brow. "You haven't seen him trying to change a lightbulb without falling off a chair."

The tension in Joy's chest eased for a moment. She nodded, grateful, and followed Grandma back downstairs.

The kitchen smelled like toast and strawberries now. The ordinary, warm scent made her chest ache. She wanted to believe it could last. That she could stay here, safe, wrapped in a cocoon of gentle people and morning tea.

But the phone still sat on the counter.

Untouched.

Watching her.

She avoided looking at it.

Grandma didn't press her anymore, but she gave the phone a passing glance and muttered, "Weird thing to get in the mail, huh?" Then she poured more tea like it was just another day.

Joy sat at the table again, this time with her back to the counter. She chewed slowly, tasted nothing, answered questions quietly.

Outside, the sun was rising higher. The town would wake up soon. Cars would move. Doors would open. Children would laugh on sidewalks.

The second cup of tea was warmer than the first, steeped with ginger this time and a little too much honey. Grandma said it was good for the nerves. Joy didn't argue.

She sat curled into one of the kitchen chairs, legs tucked under her, hands wrapped around the warm mug like it was the only thing holding her together.

Grandma slid a plate of toast in front of her and sat across the table, picking up her knitting.

Joy took a sip, paused, then smirked softly. "You know," she murmured, "I think I've had more tea in this house than I've had in my entire life."

Grandma snorted. "Good. Tea builds character."

"Is that why you're like this?" Joy asked, raising a brow.

Grandma didn't even flinch. "Exactly. Years of Earl Grey and peppermint sass."

Joy chuckled, and some of the weight in her chest loosened.

There was a beat of silence, broken only by the soft clack of knitting needles and the distant pitter-patter of Elsa's little feet on the linoleum floor. The rabbit was nudging at a stray sock in the hallway like she was trying to clean up after them.

Grandma glanced up, catching Joy mid-thought. "Whatever that little brain of yours is brewing," she said, "don't let it steep too long. It'll go bitter."

Joy blinked at her, then shook her head with a half-smile. "I'm okay. Just... processing."

Grandma gave a hum, like she didn't quite believe her, but also knew better than to push too hard. "Well, when you're ready to talk, I'll be here. And if not, there's always more tea."