Cookie thief.

CAMILA

…

I froze, my hand still clutching the box of cookies like some guilty child caught red handed. The fridge door hung open, spilling cold light across the kitchen floor, and my heart slammed against my ribcage. Slowly, I turned my head, praying it wasn’t King—or worse, that creepy Leonard guy who’d already made my skin crawl earlier.

It was her. The girl with the sharp purple hair and the attitude to match. Katherine. She leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, chewing that damn gum so loud it echoed in the silence.

Her skimpy outfit looked even more ridiculous in the dim light—a shinny crop top and shorts that barely qualified as clothing. She smirked, her eyes glinting with something I couldn’t quite place. Amusement? Malice? Both?

“Stealing already, huh?” she said, popping a bubble with her gum. “You’ve barely been here a day, and you’re already sneaking around like a rat.”

I swallowed hard, forcing my voice to stay steady. “I’m not stealing. I just… couldn’t sleep. Thought I’d grab something to eat.”

She tilted her head, studying me like I was some pathetic specimen under a microscope. “Right. And I’m supposed to believe King’s latest little pet isn’t up to something shady?” She took a step closer, her boots clicking against the tile. “Let me give you a heads-up, Camila—or whatever he’s calling you. People don’t last long around here unless they know their place.”

Her words hit me like a slap, but I refused to flinch. I shut the fridge door with more force than necessary and straightened up, gripping the cookie box tighter. “I don’t even know what ‘my place’ is supposed to be. Nobody’s told me anything useful. Maybe you could enlighten me, since you seem so eager to talk.”

Her smirk faltered for a split second, like she hadn’t expected me to bite back. Then she laughed—a sharp, grating sound that made me want to throw the cookies at her head. “Oh, you’ve got some fire in you. That’s cute. Won’t help, though. King likes ‘em quiet and obedient. You’ll figure that out soon enough.”

I narrowed my eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean? What happened to the others?”

She stopped chewing for a moment, her gaze flicking toward the ceiling as if she could see through it to wherever King was. When she looked back at me, her expression was colder. “The others? Let’s just say they didn’t stick around. Some ran off. Some… well, they weren’t cut out for the job. You’ll see.”

A chill ran down my spine, but I kept my face blank. I wasn’t about to let this brat see me rattled. “Cryptic. Helpful. Thanks for nothing.”

She shrugged, popping another bubble. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you. Nighttime wandering’s a bad habit around here. Especially with Leonard sniffing around.” She paused, her lips curling into a smirk again. “He likes the new ones. Fresh meat, y’know?”

My stomach twisted at the memory of Leonard’s “flesh eater” comment earlier. Was that supposed to be a joke, or was there something seriously unhinged about this place? Before I could respond, she turned on her heel and sauntered back toward the stairs, her purple hair swaying like a warning flag.

“Sweet dreams, rat,” she called over her shoulder, her voice dripping with mockery.

I stood there, alone in the kitchen, the cookies suddenly feeling like a brick in my hand. The silence pressed in around me, thick and heavy, broken only by the faint hum of the fridge.

I didn’t move for a long minute, half-expecting someone else to pop out of the shadows—King with his icy stare, or Leonard with his creepy grin. But no one came.

Finally, I set the box on the counter and ran a hand through my hair, trying to shake off the unease crawling up my neck. Sleep was out of the question now. Every creak of the house sounded like footsteps, every shadow like a figure watching me. What the hell had I signed up for?

---

I crept back upstairs, the box of cookies abandoned. My room felt less like a sanctuary and more like a cage with every passing second. I locked the door behind me—pointless, probably, if anyone here wanted in—and sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the clock. 4:12 a.m. The numbers glowed red, mocking me.

Katherine’s words kept looping in my head. ‘They didn’t stick around. Some ran off. Some weren’t cut out for it.’ What did that even mean? Were the other girls before me just models for King’s paintings, or was there something darker going on? And why wouldn’t he tell me anything about the damn contract beyond “be available when I need you”?

I thought about the money. The promise of freedom from my old life—my asshole boyfriend, my dead-end job. It had been enough to make me sign that dotted line without asking too many questions. Now, I was kicking myself for it.

A soft thud outside my door snapped me out of my thoughts. My breath caught, and I stared at the knob, waiting for it to turn. Nothing. Just the house settling, I told myself. But then it came again—another thud, followed by a faint shuffle. Someone was out there.

I stood, my bare feet silent on the hardwood, and pressed my ear against the door. The shuffling stopped, but I could hear breathing—slow, deliberate, like whoever it was knew I was listening. My pulse pounded in my ears.

“Who’s there?” I whispered, barely loud enough to hear myself.

No answer. Just more breathing, then the sound of footsteps retreating down the hall. I waited, counting to ten in my head, before cracking the door open an inch. The hallway was empty, bathed in the pale glow of a single wall sconce. No purple hair, no Leonard, no King. Just shadows.

I shut the door again and leaned against it, my legs shaky. This place was going to drive me insane before I even saw a paycheck. I needed answers—real ones, not vague threats from a teenage mean girl or cryptic nonsense from King. Tomorrow, I’d corner him. No more dodging. If he wanted me to “be available,” he could damn well tell me what I was available *for*.

Assuming I survived the night.