I can see you

Chapter 13

(EDWARD'S POV)

The dreams were getting worse.

They used to come once in a while-dark fragments, broken glass, blood-slicked pavement, the suffocating weight of her hair against my cheek. My mother. Dying beside me, cradling me as if her touch could shield me from the broken glasses shattered all around us. But now they were relentless. Every time I closed my eyes, I fell back into that inferno. Except lately, her face wasn't the only one I saw.

Rosy was there too. Watching and smiling. Her lips parted like she was whispering something I could never quite hear. I woke up drenched in sweat, the sheets tangled around my legs like restraints. My head throbbed. My skin itched. My fingers twitched with the need to hold something sharp. To hurt. To end.

I needed to get out. I drove without thinking, taking the long road through the city's sleeping veins, past the rusted billboards and neon flicker of late-night diners. My hands shook on the wheel, not from fear but from restraint. I didn't want to end up dragging another body through my bathroom floor tonight.

I needed him. The only person who'd ever understood me. My best friend. My secret keeper. My therapist.

He lived in a house tucked at the end of an street -quiet, ivy-covered, like it didn't belong in this decade. He had inherited it from his grandfather, along with the dusty furniture and the wall of antique clocks that never ticked in sync. It always smelled like cedar and chamomile.

I parked, climbed the crooked stairs, and knocked once. The door opened, and there he was. Killian.

He wore a plain black shirt and grey sweatpants. His hair was damp, like he had just stepped out of the shower. But his face-his face lit up with quiet surprise, not annoyance, not worry. Like he'd been waiting for me.

"Bad night?" he asked, stepping aside.

I didn't answer because I didn't have to. He always knew. I followed him into the familiar warmth of his living room. Nothing had changed. The shelves were still cluttered with psychology texts and mystery novels. A kettle whistled faintly in the background. He walked to the kitchen to turn it off while I collapsed onto the couch.

"Same dream?" he called out.

"Worse," I muttered.

He returned with two mugs and handed me one. The scent of peppermint hit me hard. Calming, grounding. I took a sip, burning my tongue.

"Did you do it again?" he asked softly.

"No," I lied.

He didn't press. He never did but he was always there to help me rid of the evidence whenever I need him. He'd been there from the beginning, when I used to panick he was always silent, steady, always ready with gloves and bleach before I even had to ask."

He sat beside me, watching with those unnervingly calm eyes. Killian had always been like that. Like a mirror with no reflection. You could pour your ugliest parts into him, and he'd never flinch.

"You need to confront her," he said.

My hand tightened around the mug. "Rosy?"

He nodded.

"She might not be what you think she is, Eddie."

"No one is what I think they are anymore. Everyone's a stranger now. And I told you-don't call me that." Roy used to call me that. Only because Killian did first. That made it worse.

A beat of silence passed.

"You think this is still about revenge," he said. "But you wouldn't be here if it was just about that."

I looked away. Toward the hallway.

The door to the room at the end was still locked. Always locked. A cold metal knob and a frosted glass window that never let light in or out.

"Still not going to tell me what's in there?" I asked, forcing a smirk.

Killian only smiled. "Not tonight."

"You know I hate secrets." I said.

"Everyone does. But we all keep them anyway." He replied.

I frowned. "You're deflecting."

"And you're projecting," he said softly, with that calm therapist tone that always made me feel small. "This isn't about what's in the box. It's about you not trusting me lately."

"Should I?"

He laughed, low and disarming. "If you have to ask that, then maybe you're not as stable as you think. You've been spiraling for weeks, Ed. I've been picking up the pieces for you since day one-don't confuse that with deception."

He placed a hand on my shoulder, grounding, but heavy. Too heavy.

"I'm the only one who knows what to do when you lose control. You remember what happened last time you tried doing it alone, don't you?"

That was a low blow. And he knew it.

"And you're the gatekeeper of that truth?"

Killian leaned closer, his voice lower now. "I'm the only one who ever kept you from completely falling apart."

He was right. That made me hate him a little. "Do you think she might still be out there?" I asked.

That got his attention. Subtle, but unmistakable-the shift. The slight twitch in his jaw, the way his fingers paused mid-movement. Killian's eyes narrowed as he asked "Riya?"

I nodded slowly.

"I don't think she even remembers herself." The way he said it made the hairs on my neck rise. It wasn't just the words, it was the certainty in them. Like he knew her not from what I'd told him but like he'd seen it firsthand. Like everything he'd ever said about her wasn't just recycled from my confessions, but pulled from somewhere deeper. Somewhere personal.

I ran a hand through my hair, frustration bleeding into something colder. Something like dread.

Rosy was spiraling. I could see it in the way she lingered longer in the places I once took her. The way her gaze clung to me when she thought I wasn't looking. The way she photographed me from across the street like she could trap me in a frame and keep me hers.

"She's planning something. I can feel it," I muttered.

Killian didn't miss a beat. "Then beat her to it," he said "Get to her first."

I frowned. "What are you saying?"

"You want closure, Ed? Then stop waiting. Stop watching. Go to her. Make her tell you the truth."

"If I see her again... I don't know what I'll do." I confessed.

Killian placed a hand on my shoulder. "Then let's find out."

The room was too quiet. The peppermint was cold.

"And if she lies? If she pretends again?"

"Then you do what you were always going to do."

I closed my eyes.

His voice, steady and low, sank into me like a seed. "You confront her, Edward. You finish it."

My fingers flexed involuntarily. A phantom itch beneath my skin. The itch that only violence could soothe.

He was the only one I trusted. The only one who knew what I truly was. And yet he was hiding something too. That locked room. The way he was deflecting questions. That smile that didn't always reach his eyes.

But for now, I needed him. I stood. "I'll do it."

Killian smiled. "Good. It's time."

Outside, the night pressed against the windows like a held breath. And in the dark, somewhere, she was waiting. Not for mercy but for me.