Tangled In Time

Unveiled Shadows

The door crashed open, making both me and Neville jump. Standing in the doorway, soaking wet, was Blake. His drenched coat clung to him, and his hair dripped onto the floor, but none of that diminished the cold fury in his eyes as they swept the room, locking onto Neville.

I scrambled up from the floor and threw my arms around his neck. Relief surged through me, though my hands trembled as they clutched at him, grounding myself in his presence. For a brief moment, Blake's arms wrapped protectively around me before he pulled back, his sharp eyes immediately catching the blood streaking down my forehead.

"Did he do this to you?" Blake's voice was low, steady—too steady. That calm, deadly tone sent a shiver down my spine as he gently brushed a strand of hair from the wound, his touch incongruously soft against the tension radiating off him.

I couldn't answer, my words caught in my throat. The chaos of the night—the storm outside, Neville's horrific confession, and now Blake standing here like an avenging shadow—left me overwhelmed. I felt an overwhelming mixture of relief, gratitude, and guilt. How much had he heard? Did he already know everything?

Neville, so commanding and sure of himself just moments ago, was visibly faltering now. He stumbled to his feet, his bravado slipping like sand through his fingers. His gaze darted nervously between Blake and me, his earlier confidence completely shattered.

Blake stepped forward, shielding me. His voice was clipped, sharp as a blade. "You're Neville Baker, right?" he said. "The one squatting on Winslow land?"

Neville's mouth opened and closed, his words momentarily lost. "You're... one of the Hawthornes?" he finally stammered.

Blake's lips curled into something between a smile and a snarl. "Winslow," he corrected, his voice cutting like ice. "You should already know who I am. Now tell me—" Blake took another step forward, his frame towering over Neville, "—what did you do to my mother?"

Neville flinched, his pale face twisting with unease. "She... she did it to herself," he muttered, but the tremor in his voice betrayed him. His defiance was breaking.

Blake's jaw tightened, his entire body tense. The storm outside roared louder, the rain hammering against the windows like fists. "You expect me to believe that?" Blake's voice was quiet, dangerous. "Tell me the truth."

Neville's expression twisted with bitterness, his lips curling into a sneer. "You don't know anything about her! She was a liar, a deceiver, and she got exactly what she deserved."

Blake's hand twitched at his side, his rage simmering just beneath the surface. "That's not an answer," he said, his tone unnervingly calm.

Neville clenched his fists, his anger rising as he tried to meet Blake's gaze. "I told her what I'd done," he said, spitting the words like venom. "About the fire. I told her there was no way out. That Ernest was dead. I wanted her to hurt."

Blake's nostrils flared, disbelief and fury flashing in his eyes. "You lied to her? To what? Push her over the edge? Wasn't beating her enough for you?"

Neville's defiance cracked for a moment before his sneer returned, weaker now. "She got what she deserved," he muttered.

The front door burst open again, slamming against the wall. The sound jolted through me, making my heart leap into my throat. My dad stormed into the room, a cricket bat gripped tightly in his hands. Rain dripped from his soaked jacket and hair, his face set with a fury that rivalled Blake's.

"What the hell is going on?" he demanded, his voice sharp and unrelenting. His eyes darted between Neville, Blake, and me before narrowing on Blake. "And who the bloody hell are you?"