Bound by Shadows

35

"We need a girls' day out." Phoebe flopped onto the bed, propping herself on her elbows while her legs swayed lazily in the air, toes tracing slow, absent shapes against the ceiling.

"What do you have in mind?"

Living with Phoebe had been nothing short of peaceful. It was the kind of quiet that seeps into your bones, making you forget the outside world even exists. I hadn't felt that in a very long time. The events from weeks ago had no place in my head anymore, I meant every word I'd said to Caelus, and that was final.

This week had been nothing but indulgence: a trip to the spa for massages and facials, afternoons wandering from boutique to boutique, even a tennis match that left us both breathless with laughter. It felt like a slice of life I'd never thought I'd have again.

"Should we stay in and watch a movie?" she asked, her eyes lighting up like a child's. I agreed without hesitation. So we stayed, popcorn spilling over the couch cushions, Scrabble tiles scattered across the coffee table, the low hum of the TV filling the space between us.

Later, it was time for skincare. I tore open a sheet mask, the faint scent of aloe drifting up as I unfolded it. Phoebe lay back, her head sinking into the pillow, eyes following me as I carefully pressed the cool sheet against her skin.

"Zanya." Her voice was quieter than before, yet it cut through the background noise all the same.

"Hmm?"

For a moment, she only looked at me. Through the mask, her expression was unreadable—but something in her gaze felt heavier, slower, like she was thinking far too much before speaking.

"Let's go," she said finally.

I blinked. "Go where?"

Her eyes didn't move from mine. "Somewhere else. Somewhere far. Somewhere no one will follow."

The way she said it wasn't pleading. It wasn't hopeful. It was certain.

I tried to laugh it off, but the sound felt thin in my throat. "Phoebe, what are you talking about?"

She let out a laugh too, but it was delayed—forced—and it lingered in the air longer than it should have. Her fingers twisted in the blanket at her side, curling and uncurling, the motion almost restless.

"I'm just saying," she murmured, voice dipping lower, "you and I... we don't need anyone else. We'd be happier if it was just us. Away from... all of them."

The way she said them made something cold crawl up my spine.

Her gaze didn't leave my face. Not even for a second. And though the mask hid her expression, I could see the faint curve of her smile—too tight, too knowing.

"I'm not letting anything take you away from me," she added softly.

The words should have been comforting. But in that moment, they felt like a warning.

Phoebe tilted her head slightly, studying me in silence. I must have let something slip, my posture, my expression, because her eyes narrowed just a fraction.

"You look tense," she said, that faint smile still lingering. "Relax, I was only teasing."

But the laugh that followed didn't sound like a joke. It was short, sharp, and ended too abruptly, as if she had to force herself to stop.

She sat up, the sheet mask rustling faintly as she peeled it from her face and reached for another one from the box. "Here," she said lightly, though her gaze never softened. "Your turn."

I hesitated, my skin prickling. "Actually, I think I'll head to my room—"

Before I could finish, her fingers closed around my wrist. Firm. Unyielding. The sudden pressure made my breath catch.

"Sit," she said, her tone flat now, no trace of playfulness left.

Her grip tightened, and I caught the faint whiteness in her knuckles. I could feel the heat of her palm against my skin, the way it refused to let go. My throat went dry.

"Phoebe..."

"Sit." The word was slower this time, deliberate. She guided me, no, pushed me, down onto the couch, her other hand gesturing toward the pillow. "Lay down."

I did as she asked, my mind scrambling for the right thing to say. She tore open the packet, the scent of rosewater filling the air, sweet but cloying.

As she unfolded the mask, she began humming under her breath.

At first, I didn't notice it. But the longer it went on, the tighter my stomach knotted.

I knew that tune, from somewhere.

She unfolded the mask and positioned it over my face. The cool sheet clung to my skin, the rosewater scent feeling almost too sweet, like it was trying to mask something else.

When I looked up at her, she was already staring back. Her eyes didn't blink. They were wide—too wide—dark in a way that made my chest tighten.

Something about the look felt... familiar. Not in a comforting way, but in the way you recognize a shadow you've seen before.

Then, just as the air felt thick enough to choke on, Phoebe's lips curved into a sudden laugh. Light. Playful. As if the last thirty seconds hadn't happened at all.

"There," she said, patting the mask into place. "Perfect."

She stood, stretching her arms casually as if we'd just finished any other night in. "I'm heading to bed. Goodnight, Zanya."

Without another glance, she disappeared down the hallway, her bedroom door clicking shut behind her.

I stayed on the couch, the sheet mask cooling against my skin, trying to shake the image of her eyes from my mind.