Chapter Seventeen
Gabriel Miller’s house is a sprawling modern mansion, designed with so many twists and turns they must be intentional. He wants people to be lost, to be intimidated, and it works.
I have a path of breadcrumbs using the abstract art decorating the cherry wood walls—splashes of red against swaths of black. Pops of yellow. I can make it to the kitchen on my own, not that I go there often.
And I can find Avery’s room when I need her, although I never do at night.
Gabriel keeps her well occupied in the evenings when he returns from searching for Jonathan Scott. Whether I have nightmares or restless insomnia, I don’t follow the hushed words and the moans down the hallway.
Those times are the hardest, when I feel so alone my chest aches.
This is what I always feared. Mama
