Chapter 62 The Quiet Between Sirens
Violet
The guest room is too quiet.
Not peaceful. Not calm. Just… hollow.
I sit on the edge of the bed, shoes still on, jacket folded in my lap like I might need to run again. The house hums softly around me, security systems, distant footsteps, doors locking somewhere else, but none of it reaches inside my chest where everything feels scraped raw.
Camille knocks once, then pushes the door open anyway.
She takes one look at me and doesn’t ask, Are you okay?
She closes the door behind her instead.
“Okay,” she says softly. “Start talking.”
I laugh, but it comes out wrong. Cracked. “That bad, huh?”
“You’ve been staring at the same spot for ten minutes,” she says, walking over. “And you’re doing that thing with your hands.”
I look down. I’m twisting my fingers together so tightly my knuckles are white.
I stop. Or try to.
Camille sits beside me, close enough that our shoulders touch. She doesn’t push. She doesn’t rush. She just waits.
And that somehow makes it worse.
“He cornered me,” I say finally.
Her body goes still. “Who.”
“Calder.”
Camille sucks in a breath through her teeth. “In the building?”
“In the women’s restroom,” I say. “Middle of the day. Like he owned the place.”
“What the fuck,” she mutters. “What the actual—”
“He didn’t touch me at first,” I say quickly, like I need to get the facts out before the feelings swallow me. “He just… talked. Like he was bored. Like this was casual.”
Camille’s hands curl into fists on her knees.
“He said I looked tired,” I continue. “That I’d been running myself into the ground for Rowan. Asked if he worked me that hard on purpose.”
“That piece of—”
“He mentioned my mother.”
Camille turns to me sharply. “What.”
I nod, throat tight. “Said her name. Said it like he knew her. Like he’d been there.”
“Oh my god,” Camille whispers.
“He told me if I’d cooperated earlier, she wouldn’t have died,” I say, voice shaking now. “Said it was my fault. That I pushed him into it.”
Camille swears under her breath. Then louder. Then again.
“He wanted me to flip,” I say. “On Rowan. Said Rowan’s dirty. That he’s the real criminal. That if I helped him, all of this would stop.”
Camille shakes her head slowly, rage vibrating off her. “And when you said no?”
“He smiled,” I say. “Like he expected it. Like it didn’t matter.”
My voice drops. “Then he put the cuffs on me.”
Camille’s head snaps up. “He arrested you?”
“He tried,” I say. “Didn’t make it out of the building.”
Her jaw tightens. “Did he hurt you?”
I hesitate.
“Violet.”
“He grabbed my arm,” I say quietly. “Hard. Left marks.”
Camille reaches for me without thinking, then stops herself. “Can I—?”
I nod.
She gently turns my wrist, my forearm. Her breath catches when she sees the bruises already blooming.
“That son of a bitch,” she says, voice breaking. “I swear to god—”
“I didn’t break,” I say quickly, like I need her to know. “I didn’t give him anything.”
“I know,” she says immediately. “I know you didn’t.”
I swallow. “It still feels like I did. Like I failed somehow.”
Camille turns fully toward me then. “No. Don’t do that. That’s what he wanted.”
I look at her, eyes burning. “I’m so tired, Cam.”
She nods. “I know.”
“I lost my brother,” I whisper. “I lost my mother. And now every time I breathe, something else comes crashing in.”
Her eyes shine. “You’re not alone.”
“I am,” I say. “That’s the worst part. I’m the only one left.”
Camille wraps her arms around me before I can stop her. I don’t resist. I collapse into her like my body’s been waiting for permission.
I cry. Ugly. Loud. The kind of sobs that shake your ribs and make your throat ache.
Camille cries too, her face pressed into my hair.
“I can’t live like this,” I choke. “I don’t know how. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do now. I wake up and there’s nothing—no one—waiting for me except more fear.”
She rocks us gently. “You don’t have to figure it out tonight.”
“I just want it to stop,” I whisper. “I just want one day where I can breathe.”
She pulls back just enough to look at me. “You talked to Rowan.”
I nod.
“What happened?”
“He opened up,” I say. “About his parents. His father. What he did to them. To Theo. To him.”
Camille’s eyes soften. “That explains… a lot.”
“He’s broken,” I say. “And I don’t know what to do with that. Or with how he looks at me now.”
“How does he look at you?”
“Like he’s trying to keep me alive,” I say. “And like he doesn’t know how not to control everything.”
Camille exhales slowly. “And you?”
“I don’t know how to live anymore,” I admit. “I don’t know who I am without my family. Without the chaos. Without something on fire.”
She rests her forehead against mine. “You’re allowed to grieve.”
“I don’t have time,” I whisper. “Everything keeps moving.”
“Then we slow it down,” she says firmly. “Here. Tonight. Right now.”
I close my eyes, leaning into her. “What if it never stops?”
“Then we survive it together,” she says. “Like we always do.”
Camille stays quiet for a long moment after that, still holding me, like she’s giving me space to decide if I want to say the next thing out loud.
I do.
“There’s something else,” I whisper.
She hums softly. “There usually is.”
I pull back just enough to breathe, my hands still twisted in her shirt like an anchor. “I think I might be… falling for Rowan.”
Camille doesn’t react right away. No gasp. No smug I told you so. Just a slow blink.
“Okay,” she says carefully. “Tell me what that feels like.”
“That’s the problem,” I say, letting out a shaky laugh. “It doesn’t feel like anything I recognize. There’s no butterflies. No stupid fantasy. It just… is. Like gravity.”
She tilts her head. “And that scares you.”
“Terrifies me,” I admit. “Because every time I think he hates me, or I’ve crossed a line, or I’ve fucked something up—he doesn’t act like it. He doesn’t punish me. He doesn’t pull away. He gets quieter. More focused. Like he’s trying to fix something.”
Camille’s mouth presses into a thin line. “Yeah. That tracks.”
“And you were right,” I say, the words heavy. “From the beginning. You saw it before I did.”
She exhales. “I didn’t want to be right.”
“I can’t be with him,” I say quickly, like I need to say it before the thought grows teeth. “I’m not the woman for him.”
Camille raises an eyebrow. “Define that.”
“He needs someone who won’t argue with him,” I say. “Someone who can sit still when he takes control. Someone who won’t challenge every decision just because they can.”
She snorts. “So… not you.”