Crossfire (Cross Duet #1)

47. GRAYSON

47

GRAYSON

Ivy’s face slowly crumbled, her features contorting into a grimace. She tore her gaze away from mine, her attention dropping to her hands, which now fidgeted restlessly in her lap. Suffocating silence expanded between us as she retreated into her thoughts.

My ribs squeezed tighter, a sinking feeling settling in my gut. Had I shared too much? Did she see me as a monster, a creature unworthy of her trust and affection?

Evidently, the answer was yes, because she abruptly stood up and declared, “I need some fresh air.”

Just moments ago, we had been connected, our souls laid bare before each other. But now, an icy distance grew between us, a palpable shift that made my skin prickle with unease.

Refusing to make eye contact, she wrapped her arms around her stomach to close herself off even more.

“Is it safe?”

Finally, her eyes found mine, but the warmth I had seen earlier was gone, replaced by a guarded, almost-fearful expression.

“To walk outside—is it safe?” she repeated.

“What’s wrong?” I pressed, rising to my feet and taking a step toward her.

“Nothing,” she insisted, but her tone was sharp, defensive. “I need some fresh air.”

I swallowed hard, my mouth suddenly dry. “Ivy, talk to me. What’s going on?”

She shook her head, backing away from me. “I can’t do this,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “I’m sorry. I just…I can’t.”

Before I could respond, she turned and bolted for the door, yanking it open with the harsh creak of hinges echoing in the empty space as she disappeared into the woods.