Page 128 of Wicked Promises (Fallen Royals 3)

His hand is grounding.

“It’s your house,” I remind him. “Who else would do that?”

“I have a few guesses.” He puts the car in park, killing the engine. “Unfortunately, none of them will be forthcoming unless we’re sneakier about it. Let’s go inside.”

I zip my jacket tighter and follow him to my front door. Robert and Lenora are both on the couch, curled up together, when we come in.

“Have a good visit?” Lenora asks. There’s unveiled concern shining in her eyes.

“We had a good conversation,” Caleb says.

I nod.

I loop my arm in his, pulling him toward the stairs. My room is clean, albeit stark. We got a new bed frame and mattress, and a white dresser, but everything is in limbo. We plan on painting and going shopping for new decorations once the weekend hits. The two coats of primer cover the red almost to the point of invisibility.

Pretty bird, broken wings. I shudder to think about it.

“Who do you think did it?” I whisper on the stairs.

Caleb pauses next to the picture of me and him. The detective never did notice the red fingerprint, but he hones in on it. “Was this—?”

“Yes.”

“It’s right over your face,” he says in a low voice. “You didn’t think to mention this?”

“It isn’t like it’s a threat.”

He gives me an exasperated look. “It could be, since everything Unknown does seems to have hidden meaning.”

I don’t have a response to that. Because, yeah, he’s totally right. It could be a threat, as subtle as it may seem.

“They wrote on my wall,” I point out. “Isn’t that a bit more…”

“Precise?” He scowls.

“I think I’m going to paint the room light blue,” I tell him, walking into my room. My things—what was salvaged, anyway—are neatly stacked on top of the dresser. The primer is a creamy white color. It’s not awful, but it isn’t my first choice.

“Is that, ‘Oh, what a glorious fall’ from something?” Caleb asks. He plops down on my bed, smoothing the blanket. “Or do you think they made it up?”

I sit next to him. “I’ve been stewing over that myself,” I admit. “And at the same time, it infuriates me that I’m even wasting the brain power on it.”

“Fair.”

“Pretty bird, though… it reminds me of something just out of reach.”

He lifts a lock of my hair, twirling it. “It’ll come to you. Is that the painting?”

My attention goes to the canvas in the corner of the room, leaning against the wall. Small mercies that it wasn’t in the room when it got destroyed.

I still need to finish it, now that my view of Caleb has changed once again.

“It’s due soon,” he reminds me. “And my eyes are blank.”

My cheeks heat. “Yeah, I haven’t really had much time…”

“You’re right. Me neither. Luckily, I finished mine weeks ago.”

I stare at him. “Seriously? And you didn’t show me?”