Chapter 11 · The Desert Never Closed

I drove too fast.

The truck rattled over the cracked highway, headlights cutting through nothing but sand and dark. My hands gripped the wheel so hard my knuckles went white. The box Marco gave me sat in the passenger seat, but I didn't look at it. Couldn't.

Mom was alive. Sort of. Trapped in some shadow dimension because she'd shoved something inside me when I was a kid and then threw herself into a rift to keep it closed.

And Kira knew.

Kira knew the whole time.

I pressed harder on the gas. The engine whined. I didn't care.

When I pulled into the gravel lot behind my apartment, the lights were still on inside. Of course they were. Kira was probably eating my leftover pizza or breaking another appliance. I killed the engine, grabbed the box, and slammed the truck door hard enough to make the frame shake.

The front door wasn't locked. I shoved it open.

Kira was on the couch, legs tucked under her, holding a mug of something. She looked up when I came in. Her face did that thing—softened, like she was about to say something careful.

"Layla—"

"Don't.