18. | Potential

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Killian shut off his monitor and stood from his seat, the muscles in his body stretching and groaning in pain from sitting for so long

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Killian shut off his monitor and stood from his seat, the muscles in his body stretching and groaning in pain from sitting for so long.

He sighed as he grabbed his phone, walking around the desk to leave. His gaze drifted to Evelyn, who was still sleeping on the couch. He blew out a breath before he walked toward her and removed the blanket from her, tossing it over the back of the couch. He slithered his arm under her knees and under her back, hauling her up into his arms.

He walked toward the door, carefully reaching down and opening the door. He carried her to her room, where he laid her down and covered her in the thick, white colored duvet. He grabbed the clothes from the end of the bed and walked to the closet to put them up.

As he did, the balcony doors slid open, the chilly August air sweeping into the room. The wind whistled as white smoke blew into the room, toward Evelyn. It climbed into her mouth as Killian walked out of the closet.

Her body stayed resting, yet flashes of the past recurred in her head. She'd lost sleep because of the truth. She wanted to change the past, but not even she had the power to do so.

As Killian left the room, her eyes opened. The door clicked shut and she peeled the covers off of her body, moving her legs to land on the cold, hardwood floor. She stood up and walked to the bathroom, closing and locking the door behind her. She walked to the marble counters, running a hand through her hair. She sighed as she turned the water faucets on. She cupped the water in her hands and splashed her face with it, trying to shake herself awake.

She placed her hands on the rim of the sink before slowly looking up into the mirror. Dark bags sat beneath her eyes and she looked paler. She looked sick. She grabbed the hand towel from the hook on the wall and wiped her face. She shut off the water before she exited from the bathroom, a figure appearing in the mirror.

She walked toward the nightstand and reached for her phone but stopped when she felt someone behind her. Her phone sat on the farthest side, away from the bed, as she stood near the wall. Her hand inched toward the glass lamp before she snatched it, spinning around and swinging at the figure.

She let go and it flew against the wall, shattering. It went through them. She looked from the broken glass to the figure. Its hair fell in black curls, reaching a few inches above its elbows. It, too, looked from the glass.

It gave a taunting smile. "Close, but not quite."

"Esme." Evelyn whispered, her face pale, as if she had seen a ghost.

"Hello, dearie." She smiled, her expression soft.

Evelyn slowly reached her hand back with slow steps, reaching for the bat that she knew was hidden. There were a few weapons that were stashed around the room, all different. "Stay the hell away from me."

Esme took a step forward. "Oh, don't be like that. You wanted the truth, and now you have it." She smiled.

Evelyn shook her head in defiance. "Hayley is my mother." Her bottom lip trembled.

One of the Last | Book 3 | ✔Where stories live. Discover now