Chapter 9 · Her Handwriting

"Give me the knife."

Daniel's voice came from behind me, low and careful, like he was talking to someone about to jump.

I didn't turn around. I kept my eyes on the contract spread across the kitchen table, the ink still wet where my signature had started to bleed into something else. Something that looked more like my handwriting with every passing second.

"Leah."

"Don't." I grabbed the paring knife off the counter, the one I'd been using to open the envelope twenty minutes ago. Back when I thought I had time. "Don't come any closer."

He stopped. I heard the floorboard creak under his weight, felt the air shift when he raised his hands.

"I'm not going to hurt you," he said.

"Yeah, well, you're not going to lie to me either." I turned, kept the blade between us. My hand was shaking but I locked my elbow. "Not anymore."

His face was pale in the overhead light, shadows pooled under his eyes like he hadn't slept in days. Maybe he hadn't. Maybe none of us had.

"What do you want to know?" he asked.

"Everything." I took a step forward. He took one back. Good.