Chapter 73. A Plan for Two

Ainsley

When the door slams shut behind me, the sound echoes in the hollow silence of my old bedroom.

I don’t turn around. I don’t need to. I know the sound of that lock clicking into place has sealed me in here again just like it did when I was little.

The room smells the same—like dust and old wood and the faintest hint of lavender from the candles my grandmother used to sneak to me that I still keep in the drawers. It’s suffocating. It’s familiar. And worst of all, it’s the exact same prison I’ve lived in my entire life.

Goddess, what a mess.

My face still stings from my father’s hand.

No doubt there are finger shaped marks pressed into my skin. If I wasn’t a shifter, that slap would’ve already bruised by now. I’m lucky in only that sense, I suppose.

My eyes sweep the room, catching sight of the bed I left behind when I’d been kicked out, still neatly made, the quilt my grandmother stitched for me folded at the foo