Six

Brielle’s POV

I woke up to birds.

Not my alarm, not the sound of someone clattering dishes in the kitchen. Birds. And it took me a few seconds to remember I wasn’t in my room at home anymore.

Sunlight was coming in through the window and hitting me right in the eyes. I groaned and pulled the blanket over my face. For a minute, I just lay there, wishing I could stay in some fake little bubble where there were no creepy texts, no gunshots, no drama.

Then I heard it.

Music.

It was faint at first, like it was coming from far away. A piano. The notes were slow and kind of sad, like someone was playing just for themselves, not for anyone to listen.

I sat up and pulled on the robe I’d thrown over the chair last night. My shorts and tank top were fine underneath, but the robe made me feel… less exposed. I padded out into the hallway, the floor cool under my bare feet.

The closer I got, the louder the piano got. It wasn’t perfect. Sometimes the notes were a little off, like the person playing was thinking too much. But it was still beautiful.

And then I saw him.

Desmond.

He was sitting at a big black piano in the corner of the living room. His head was bent a little, his dark hair messy like he’d been running his hands through it. His fingers moved across the keys like he’d been doing it forever.

Oh, and he was shirtless. Of course.

I didn’t mean to stare, but my eyes dropped to his chest, to the muscles shifting every time his hands moved. Then I saw it, this tiny skull tattoo on his chest, just above his heart. I wondered if it meant anything or if it was just… there.

My foot hit a creaky board.

He stopped instantly, his fingers freezing on the keys. Then his head lifted, and those eyes of his locked on mine.

“You’re up early,” he said.

I shrugged a little. “Couldn’t sleep.”

He closed the piano and stood up. The moment was gone, just like that. He walked right past me toward the kitchen.

I followed.

He pulled out two mugs without asking and started pouring coffee. No “how do you take it?” or anything, just added milk and two sugars before sliding it across the counter to me.

I blinked at it. “Thanks.”

He gave me a short nod and turned back to the stove. Eggs sizzled in the pan, and the smell of coffee filled the air.

“I can cook for myself, you know,” I said.

“I know.”

That was it. No extra words.

I watched him crack another egg, the muscles in his back moving every time he reached for something. I wondered if he even noticed how tense he looked when I was in the room.

“You play really well,” I said finally. “The piano. It was… nice.”

He gave this small shrug, like it didn’t matter. “It’s just an old habit.”

“Right. And keeping people at a distance is a new one?” I shot back.

That made him turn his head a little. His eyes were unreadable. “If you’ve got something to say, say it.”

“You’ve been acting like I’m some kind of problem you don’t want. If you didn’t want me here, you should’ve told my dad.”

His shoulders stiffened. “Your father asked me to keep you safe. I said yes because I owe him. And if I had a daughter your age, I’d want someone I trust to do the same for her.”

“That’s it? No other reason?”

“That’s it.”

“Then tell me who’s after me. Tell me what’s going on. I’m the one they’re threatening.”

“You don’t need the details.”

“Not your call.”

His eyes were sharp now. “You think you want the truth, but you don’t. Trust me.”

I leaned against the counter. “You’re scared.”

“Of what?”

“This,” I said. “Being stuck here with me.”

He didn’t answer. He just put his coffee cup in the sink and started walking out of the kitchen.

“You don’t scare me, Desmond,” I said as he reached the doorway. “But you do confuse me.”

He didn’t even look back.

I ate my breakfast alone, then wandered down one of the hallways. I wasn’t exactly snooping—okay, maybe a little, but the house was quiet, and I was curious.

The walls were lined with pictures. Most of them were landscapes, mountains, oceans, sunsets. But one photo caught my eye.

It was smaller than the rest, tucked off to the side.

Desmond looked way younger, maybe early twenties. He was standing next to a woman with blonde hair, a perfect smile, and this kind of glow about her. She was beautiful. He… wasn’t smiling. He had the same unreadable expression he always had now.

I was still looking when I heard footsteps behind me.

I turned too fast, my heart jumping into my throat.

Desmond stood there, now in a T-shirt, his eyes narrowing just a little.

“You shouldn’t be in here,” he said.

“I wasn’t snooping,” I said quickly. “I just saw the picture.”

He glanced at it. “Old life.”

“She was beautiful,” I said before I could stop myself.

“She’s gone.”

That was all he said. No explanation. No story. Just two words, heavy enough to shut the whole thing down.

He stepped closer, not close enough to touch, but close enough that I could feel the shift in the air between us.

“Don’t come in here again,” he said quietly.

And then he walked away, leaving me standing there with the photo, wondering who she was… and why he looked at me sometimes like I was a problem he wanted to solve and a problem he wanted to run from at the same time.