I stare at her, my heartbeat more frantic now than when confronting the favorites. For the first time, it feels like someone might acknowledge the castle in the sky is just a cloud.

“I wasn’t wrong about him, was I,” she says, not phrasing it as a question, regret weighing heavy in her tone.

It spreads to her face and stance when I shake my head.

“Roman’s still all of those things,” I finally manage. “He celebrated fourteen years of sobriety last summer.”

She urges me to take the card, so I reluctantly accept. I read the name and see the phone number.

“I ignored my instincts when it came to you, and I refuse to do it again.” She checks over her shoulder and then returns to me, talking lower to keep it between us. “Something clearly happened between you and them. My gut’s telling me it was bad, and I’m so sorry for anything I did and didn’t do that led to it. I doubt they’ll try anything now. Not without…” Her eyes dart to the wall separating us from Daniel’s room to fill in the who. “Just know I’ll be watching anyway. I’ll be watching everything from here on, Remi.”

I believe her. I believe she’ll truly see it too.

My lashes stave off a sting of tears. “Thank you, Julie.”

“Will you also tell Roman I’m sorry?” she asks.

“I’ll tell him, but he’ll say you have nothing to apologize for. He’s still a stubborn ass, too.”

Her lips tip up the tiniest bit at the corner before she nods. She points at the card with her eyes as a reminder, then she retreats through the doorway.

After taking the deepest breath of my life, I slowly exhale. Shaky as shit, but I’m in control again, and I follow her out.

On my return to the private room, Julie’s opening one of the ICU doors. I catch a glimpse of Elvin and Marlo through it, and whatever threat they posed seems far away. I’ll never forget it, probably always sense it to some degree. But the air tastes clean instead of caustic, the mouth of teeth muzzled.

I banished the closet’s shadows. Now for its monster.

* * *

Everything moves quickly once I sign the papers, authorizing the doctor to remove the machines. In under fifteen minutes, the doctor’s standing bedside, a different nurse across from her.

“Are you sure you wouldn’t like a little more time?” she asks.

“No.”

I don’t hesitate with the answer this time. I don’t need to.

All the pretending is over. I’m calling wrap and burning the set to ash. Daniel can burn with it, and he can do it alone.

When I move toward the door, Dr. Sullivan says, “You don’t want to stay?”