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After Elaine stormed out, I followed Julian to the window.

"The cemetery's right outside. Doesn't it bother you, living here?"

Julian glanced out briefly.

"It is a bit grim." A small pause. "I'll find you somewhere better. Where would you want to live? Somewhere with an ocean view? A penthouse downtown? A house works too."

I blinked.

I'll find you somewhere.

Not just me. We.

Why did it have to include him?

The current Julian — he didn't seem to hate me anymore.

I adjusted the strap of my school bag and picked my words carefully:

"Can you help me get a new ID? And... I have no money. Could you lend me some? I'll pay you back once I'm working."

Julian went quiet.

That dark, unreadable gaze settled on me. I couldn't tell what was behind it.

"Ivy," he said finally, slowly, "do you want to leave?"

A beat.

"This isn't the estate. No one here will make you do anything you don't want to do. And you're eighteen — you should be in school." A faint self-deprecating turn of his mouth. "Or is it me? Do you not want to be around me?"

He stepped closer as he said it. His breath was warm against my face.

I turned to avoid it.

Julian caught my chin, gently but firmly, and made me look at him.

My spine went cold. Instinctively, I answered: "I... I'll do whatever you think is best."

"Good girl."

Something in Julian's shoulders eased, almost imperceptibly.

"Stay here. I'll go down and get us breakfast."

After he left, I wandered through the apartment, curious. There were two bedrooms, but he kept the second one locked. If I could get it sorted out, I wouldn't have to share a room with him.

I spotted a key ring by the entryway.

The lock opened easily.

The windows had been covered — the room was nearly dark. I found the light switch and flipped it on.

What I saw made me step back.

No wonder he said the room hadn't been lived in.

Julian.

This man is out of his mind.

I bolted — out the door, down the stairwell, half-running — and collided with someone at the bottom.

"Ivy?"

I froze. Turned around.

A woman. Unkempt hair, wild eyes, clothes filthy and torn. One leg dragged at an odd angle when she moved.

She clapped her hands together, laughing breathlessly.

"It's really you! Ivy! You came back!"

I didn't recognize her at first. I started to turn away. "You've got the wrong person. We just look alike."

She grabbed my arm. "Don't. I'd know you anywhere." Her voice cracked into something high and raw. "You're so young. Still eighteen — just like before..."

Then without warning, her hands closed around my throat.

"You should have stayed dead," she hissed. "You were supposed to stay dead. If you're gone, Julian might finally look at me—"

I shoved her off.

And when I looked at her face — really looked — the name came out of me before I could stop it:

"Serena?"