Chapter 22 · Mom Left a Lockbox

I cut the radio off before Derek's voice can finish the word "baby."

Cain doesn't say anything. Just keeps driving, knuckles white on the wheel. The blackened veins from the mark have crawled past his wrist now. They're threading up his forearm like roots looking for something to choke.

I press my back against the passenger door and watch him. "How long before it kills you?"

"Don't know." His voice comes out flat. "Never heard of anyone breaking a bond halfway."

"We didn't break it."

"Close enough." He flexes his left hand and winces. "Guild lore says the mark either completes or it rots. Guess we're testing theory two."

I should feel bad. Part of me does. The rest of me is still hearing him say *I'll take you back* like I'm some escaped dog he's returning to the pound. I cross my arms and stare out at the highway. Pennsylvania fields blur past, all dead corn and rusted silos.

"There's a storage unit," I say after a long stretch of silence. "In Harrisburg. Mom rented it under a fake name when I was twelve."

That gets his attention. He glances over. "You remember the name?"

"Marsha Pruitt. Unit 237."