We’re actually right near my old bedroom, so I lead him inside, directing him toward the en suite bathroom. The room is big but still feels so small. I open the doors to the balcony in my room, the one that overlooks the west side of the house. It’s pretty much the end of the property line and provided the perfect escape over the security wall when I was sneaking out.

Sure, I got branches in my hair when I was climbing down the huge oak tree that’s still growing strong now, but I did whatever it took to make it out of this house.

From here, I’ve got a good view of the houses that surround us, some forest, and, beyond all that, the city. This place that I used to call home.

Wyatt comes walking out of the bathroom a few minutes later.

“Come on,” I say. “We should head back down.” Don’t want to be missed, not for even a second.

“That bathroom is huge! The bath looks like a hot tub.”

“Yeah, it’s big.”

Wyatt stops as we stand in the middle of the bedroom. “I never really understood houses like this,” he says.

“What do you mean?”

“What do you do with all of this space? What’s the point?”

I shrug. “I dunno.”

“I mean, this room is so bare and boring,” he says. “Shouldn’t a room look like someone? There’s like zero personality here.”

“Are you saying that I’m bare and boring?” I tease.

“Oh, I—” His cheeks go red. “This is your room?”

I nod, leaning against the doorframe while I stare at him. He looks so cute when he’s flustered.

“I didn’t, um …”

“I’m kidding,” I say, walking back over toward him to flatten down the collar of his shirt. “Not about this being my room: It is. But I get what you mean. The worst part is that Mother hasn’t changed a thing since I left for Steerfield, except for a new duvet. It’s all the same.”

“Wow … that’s—”

“Depressing? Yeah.”

Everything in our rooms was muted and drab so that none of the colors clashed. Rich hardwood floors we weren’t allowed to run on, carefully crafted modern furniture that we could rarely sit on or use as it was intended.

“We couldn’t even hang stuff on the walls,” I tell him.

“Seriously?”

I nod. “I printed out this picture of Shawn Mendes and taped it to my wall one day. She yelled at me for an hour.”

Surprisingly, Wyatt lets out this snort of laughter. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t laugh.”

“What’s so hilarious?”

“Just the image of you taping a picture of Shawn …”

“Listen … it was a phase,” I tell him. “Leave me alone.”

“At least I know you have a thing for musicians,” he says quietly.

I swallow, every bit of moisture leaving my mouth.