Dusk Snow Hides All Return (Rowan and Adrienne) novel Chapter 9

Through the whole thing, Rowan didn't say a word. He didn't even open his eyes.

Not until an officer, polite but firm, asked him to stand up did he slowly lift his eyelids.

His gaze drifted past his parents, who wouldn't meet his eyes, past Adrienne, whose expression was a mess no one could read, and finally landed on Desmond's face, which was flooded with relief.

No hatred. No rage. No hurt.

Just a dead, lifeless kind of calm.

He quietly pulled the IV needle out of the back of his hand, slowly sat up, and got out of bed.

Adrienne watched how terrifyingly still he was, and her heart felt like some invisible hand had clamped down on it, squeezing so painfully that she could barely breathe. As he walked past her, she suddenly shot her hand out and grabbed his arm.

"Rowan..." Her voice came out rough, shaking in a way she didn't even notice. "You... just wait for me, three days max, I swear I'll get you out! After that... after that, wherever you want to go, whatever you want to do, I'll go with you! I'll make it up to you—whatever you want, you can have it!"

Rowan stopped, looked down, and glanced at the hand gripping his arm.

Then he raised his head and met her eyes.

Gently, but firmly, he peeled her fingers off.

One by one.

Not a single word.

Then he turned, followed the officer, and walked out of the ward, step by step.

Behind him, Mr. Ashford Sr. and Mrs. Ashford stammered, "Rowan... we... we didn't have a choice... once Desmond's out of this, we'll spend real time with you, we promise..."

Rowan's steps didn't falter, as if he hadn't heard a thing.

Adrienne stood frozen where he'd left her, watching him disappear around the corner of the hallway. The hand he'd pried open was still curled in the air, trembling faintly.

Three days in the Detention Center felt like three years.

It was cold, damp, and loud, with the cellmates giving him hostile looks and running their mouths.

The food was rough and simple, and the bed was a slab of wood.

His injuries still hurt. The conditions were brutal. Rowan barely slept at all.

But he stayed quiet. No crying, no outbursts, no talking to anyone. He just sat silently in his corner, staring up at the small, barred window near the ceiling.

Late on the third afternoon, he was finally released.

He stepped out through the heavy iron door, and the sunlight hit him hard.

He squinted, letting his eyes adjust.

He powered on his phone. Two messages were waiting.

One from Mrs. Ashford: [Rowan, your dad and I have to attend a really important charity gala. We won't be able to pick you up. Just grab a cab home, stay safe. Mom'll cook you something good when you're back to make it up to you.]

One from Adrienne: [Rowan, something urgent came up at the company—a major cross-border M&A meeting. I genuinely can't leave. Just head home first and rest up. I'll come see you tonight. After that, wherever you want to go, I'm there. Wait for me.]

Rowan read through both with zero expression. Then he opened his social media feed.

The first post that refreshed to the top was Desmond's, posted ten minutes earlier.

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