Ste snapped awake.
She didn''t move a muscle, keeping her breathing perfectly even. In the pitch ck of the bedroom, she felt the weight of a gaze fixed on her, lingering just long enough to ensure she was fast asleep.
After a moment of dead silence, sensing no shift in her rhythm, Joshua finally looked away and slipped out of the room like a ghost.
The moment the door clicked shut, Ste threw off the covers and followed him.
Joshua was incredibly sharp; she had to wait until his footstepspletely faded down the hall before she dared to step out of the room.
Peering through the crack of the door, she watched him head straight for the study. Did he have somete-night business to handle?
Driven by a nagging sense of dread, she waited until he disappeared inside before stepping out of the bedroom.
She stood outside the heavy oak doors for a few agonizing minutes.
When he didn''t re-emerge, Ste took a deep breath and decisively turned the brass knob.
The deskmp cast a sickly, dim glow across the room, barely fighting back the shadows.
Caught in the pale light, the steel of a hunting knife glinted dangerously.
The breath left Ste''s lungs in a rush—he was dragging the de across his own flesh.
The sheer horror of the scene hit her like a physical blow.
Joshua was entirely focused on the bloodied metal in his hand.
Ste''s sudden intrusion shattered the silence, leaving him momentarily frozen in shock.
Her gaze snapped to the fresh cuts on his body, all the blood draining from her face.
"Joshua, what the hell are you doing?!"
His expression darkened instantly.
He tried to conceal the knife, but Ste was already closing the distance.
Ignoring the weapon, she grabbed the cor of his silk pajama shirt and ripped it open.
His chest was a canvas of mutted skin-crisscrossing scars, fresh scabs, and new, shallow cutsyered over one another.
In the dim light, the gruesome sight was utterly terrifying.
Ste''s eyes darted frantically over the damage, staring at him with a suffocating wave of despair.
"Why?"
Joshua remained dead silent.
Her voice cracked, rising in desperation. "Tell me, Joshua! Why would you do this to yourself?!"
Never in a million years had she imagined his illness would drive him to self-harm.
Every time she dared to harbor a sliver of hope for his recovery, reality delivered a brutal, crushing blow.
Joshua stood quiet for a long moment before his lips finally parted.
"It''s punishment."
His voice was unnervingly calm, his eyes locking onto hers.
"I refuse to let anyone hurt you. Not even myself."
Ste physically recoiled, the fire
her ange
instantly exed by
the chilling cerity in his tone.
"You didn''t... you didn''t have to do this."
Staring at the horrific tapestry of wounds, her vision blurred with hot tears.
She squeezed her eyes shut, suddenly feelingughably naive.
If there had ever been a better way, why would Laurel Quinn have resorted to
hypnosis in the first ce?
If the Gardners'' curse was so easily cured, why had Mr. Burton spent six
fruitless months with them, only to return empty-handed? >
Joshua was forced to write in a journal every single day just to keep a grip on his own reality.
His methods had always been ruthless, but now he was losing control, targeting the people around her.
And now, he was mutting himself.
She could no longer y pretend or wait for a miracle.
Maybe one existed, but they were entirely out of time.
She hated how hesitant she became when it mattered most, always failing to make
the hard choices.
She had been just as paralyzed when divorcing Haynes O''Brien.
And here she was, doing it all over again.
Seeing the
cheas spill down her
cheeks, the cold, dead surfachet
Joshua''s eyes finally fractured with emotion.
He reached out, his thumb gently brushing away a tear. "Don''t cry."