Boundless

Him

Abby's POV

Abby stood before Him, awaiting His commands.

She had long lost her own stream of consciousness and the only voice that ran through her head anymore was His.

He was staring straight forward, His face void of any emotion. "Did you say everything you were supposed to?" He asked.

She nodded slowly.

"Did she see his sign?"

Again, a nod.

"I didn't want to have to take such drastic measures," He said, mostly to Himself. "But I can't have Caulfield in my way."

His eyes moved to Abby's slowly and all she could do was stare into them blankly.

"Find him," His voice echoed in her mind. "Follow him home. He has something I need you to find: the knife he carries with the symbol engraved on it. When you do, come back here, walk to the kitchen, and stab that knife into your heart."

He stared at Abby, waiting for her to respond.

"Okay," she told him effortlessly.

Ashlynn's POV

It was nine when I finally left my room again. I would have stayed in there all night if possible—I was too unsettled to face Abby again. If I saw her, I knew I'd have to find a way to talk about how she's been acting lately, and I felt too tired for confrontation. But then six hours of not eating caught up with me and I was forced to leave me room.

As soon as I entered the kitchen, I spotted Devon outside talking to Abby.

A millisecond after my eyes landed on him, he looked directly at me, as if he felt my gaze on his face. My breathing automatically hitched.

Abby responded to something he said and then walked off the porch and into my backyard, leaving Devon standing alone, staring at me with an emotion in his eyes I couldn't understand.

With that look, I lost all sense. The fact that Abby just went more than slightly insane in my room earlier no longer mattered, nor did the fact that she just walked off into the night with a peculiar, determined stride. He was the only thing I could think about. He and all of his frightening perfection.

Something about his look that moment was different. Different from all the times I remembered him looking at me. It was... passionate.

I smiled warmly, confidence building in me and walked to him. I opened the porch door and motioned for him to come in. "It's cold out here. Come inside, I'll make you dinner."

He looked at me for a moment, examining my face. The silence was not awkward. If anything, it made me more confident. "I make good pasta," I assured him.

Slowly, he nodded. He stepped towards me, but didn't cross through the threshold of my house. "I'm not craving food at the moment," he told me, moving closer.

A strange feeling shot through me at his words, so quick it was nearly painful. "What are you craving?" My voice became significantly softer. I didn't even realize what I had asked until after it slipped from my mouth.