Chapter 8: A Place to Stay

(Mani's POV)

It had been over a week since Eliot disappeared. And I still thought about him, just not every second anymore.

That was how I survived things. I adjust.

At first, Carl's house felt strange. The bed was too soft, the food was too much, the silence was too complete… but now, I barely noticed any of it.

I'd learned exactly how many steps it takes to get down to the kitchen, I'd learned most of Carl's routine, how heavy he walks, and I've memorized his phone number.

I hadn't even realized I'd memorized those things until I caught myself walking through the kitchen without thinking about where I was going, and accurately timing when Carl comes downstairs in the morning, when he leaves the house, and when he comes back in.

Maybe that was the problem with me; I got used to things too easily, places, people, names, lives… if something changed, I changed with it.

Right now, though, I was bored.

Painfully bored.

I'd tried downloading games on the phone Carl had gotten me, but apparently I wasn't a gamer. I'd deleted most of them after two days.

There wasn't much else to do. So I sat at the dining table, pushing food around my plate with my fork.

I wasn't hungry.

Again.

Carl walked into the dining room a few minutes later.

He glanced at my untouched food before taking the seat opposite me.

“Hey.”

I looked up. “You're back.”

“Yeah.”

I pushed my chair away from the table.

“Let me get your food.”

Carl watched me stand. “You don't have to.”

“I know.”

I walked into the kitchen anyway.

I fixed him a plate and brought it over.

He accepted it with a faint smile. “Thank you.”

I shrugged and sat down.

For a while, neither of us spoke.

Carl ate, and I continued poking at my food.

Eventually, he put his fork down. “Are you okay?”

“I'm fine.”

“You've been saying that a lot.”

“Because I, actually, am fine.”

His eyes remained on me. “But you're not eating.”

“I'm not hungry.”

“Why so gloomy? Do you miss home?”

I hand stopped moving.

Home.

The word sat strangely in my mind.

I didn't know what it was supposed to mean. I'd lived in several places, and none of them had ever felt permanent.

My grandmother's house had been the closest thing to one, but it hadn't been much of a home.

She never wanted me there.

She called me bad luck. Blamed me for my mother's leaving. Made sure I knew that being born an Omega had disappointed her.

For a while, I'd thought maybe she would've loved me if I'd been an Alpha.

Then I realized it wasn't that simple.

She just didn't like me.

I pushed the thought away.

Thinking about my mother was worse. I barely remembered her. Just pieces… a voice, a scent, a face that became harder to picture the older I got.

She had left, and I'd survived.

That was the important part.

I looked at Carl and shook my head. “No.”

His eyebrows rose. “No, what?”

“I don't miss home.”

Something in his expression softened.

I didn't want to talk about it, so I changed the subject. “Do you have anything interesting in this giant house?”

Carl blinked… then smiled.

“I was wondering when you'd get curious.”

“I've only seen about four rooms.”

“You've been here over a week, and you haven't explored?”

“I had more important things to do.”

“Such as?”

I pointed at the phone lying beside me. “Stare at that.”

He laughed.

I smiled. Then added, “The voices in my head keep me company.”

Carl's laughter became a quiet chuckle.

He finished his food and wiped his mouth with a napkin.

“Come with me.”

“Where?”

“You wanted to see something interesting.”

That got my attention.

I stood up.

Carl led me down a hallway I hadn't noticed before.

We stopped in front of a large wooden door.

He pulled a key from his pocket.

I looked at him. “What's in there?”

“You'll see.”

He unlocked the door.

The moment it opened, the smell hit me. Old paper, wood, dust… something warm and familiar.

I stepped inside… and immediately stopped.

Books.

So many books.

Shelves covered almost every wall. Some were old enough that their spines were faded. Others looked brand new.

There was a large couch near the fireplace, a record player on a side table, and—

I froze.

A piano!

A beautiful grand piano stood near the fireplace.

“Holy shit.”

Carl smiled. “Like it?”

I walked farther into the room. “Why didn't you show me this before?”

“I didn't know you liked books.”

“I do.”

I ran my fingers over the shelves.

There were novels I'd never seen before, books I couldn't afford, books I'd only ever seen through shop windows.

I pulled one out.

Then another.

I was beginning to understand why rich people had libraries.

This was ridiculously fantastic.

I glanced toward the piano again.

Something inside me shifted, and I walked toward it slowly.

Carl noticed. “You play?”

I ran my fingers lightly over the closed lid. “Used to.”

“Used to?”

I nodded. “When I was younger.”

“How long ago?”

“A long time.”

I sat on the bench before I could talk myself out of it.

Carl leaned against the piano. “Show me.”

I looked at him..“I haven't played in years.”

“So?”

“So I might be terrible.”

“My ears would survive.”

I rolled my eyes.

But I lifted the lid, and let my fingers hover over the keys.

For a moment, I couldn't move.

I remembered being twelve, sitting in a small room with a woman sitting beside me. My piano teacher. Her scent had always been gentle. She'd correct my fingers whenever I played a wrong note, sometimes she'd tap my hand lightly, but she'd never make me feel stupid for making mistakes.

She believed I could be good.

And even more sweetly, she'd taught me for free. All the days I couldn't go home to a Grandma mad at my existence, I'd spent with this teacher.

I practiced at her house until I was fifteen. Back then, I only started because I saw all the kids with rich and loving families had these fancy skills and I wanted to feel a little bit important too. But those years were some of the few times I remember feeling proud of myself.

Then life changed.

The lessons stopped, the piano disappeared, and I moved on… I always moved on.

I placed my fingers on the keys.

The first few notes were hesitant, my hands were rusty…

…then muscle memory took over.

The piece I'd learned as a child slowly came back to me, and my fingers moved more confidently.

The room disappeared.

For a few minutes, there was only the piano.

And me.

When the final note faded, I stared at my hands in silent awe.

Then Carl clapped.

I blinked at him.

“You're really good.”

I looked down, a small smile pulling at my lips.

“Thanks.”

Eight years.

I hadn't realized I'd missed it that much.

I looked around the library again. The books, the piano, the record player… It was everything I had never been able to have in one place.

Carl's voice came quietly from behind me.

“I'm glad you can play.”

I turned to see he was looking at the piano.

“No one has touched it in years.”

“Why?”

“It belonged to my mother.”

I glanced at the piano. “She played?”

Carl nodded. “I never learned.”

There was something in his expression I couldn't quite read.

I didn't ask.

Instead, I looked at the shelves again. “Can I come here again?”

Carl smiled. “Of course.”

He reached into his pocket and held out a small golden key.

I stared at it.

“You can use it whenever you want.” He placed the key in my palm. “Just lock the door when you're done.”

I closed my fingers around it.

“Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

I looked down at the key.

No one had ever given me access to something like this. Heck, have I ever been given anything? I had to earn the littlest things through the hardest means.

“Thank you.”

Carl nodded.

Then he left.

I remained in the library for a while, browsing through the books.

After a while, I picked up a book and settled onto the couch.

For once, I didn't feel the need to figure out what came next. I didn't need to change my name again, I didn't need another place to run to, or another plan for survival.

I could just sit.

Eventually, I carried the book and the key back to my room.

I showered, changed, and climbed into bed.

The moment my head touched the pillow, sleep took me.

I didn't check the door, I didn't check the window, I didn't plan where I'd run if someone came looking for me.

I simply slept.

And maybe that was how I knew I was beginning to get used to this place.

Not because I'd forgotten what happened, not because I trusted Carl— heck I thought he's being suspicious with all that kindness.

But because, for one night at least, I stopped preparing to leave. And that, for someone like me, was worth risking my life for. A moment of peace has always been the rarest thing, but I got it here. And I didn't mind how much danger followed. I was willing to risk letting my guard down, just for this very rare thing.