Chapter 29

I gasped and ran to him seconds before I realised I should have run outside to try and get help.

"Tristan?" I whispered, cupping his face. A little blood got on my hands.

He was unconscious and I tried tapping him awake but that didn't work. I noticed the dried blood on his face and on my hand was powdery, like chalk.

I rubbed it between my fingers and it came off easily, reminding me of the dried watercolour I used to play with as a kid. What the hell was going on?

"AAAAHHH."

I stumbled backwards and unto my ass, I could feel my heartbeat in my throat. Fear gripped me as I assumed the worst. Had I done something to him? He glanced at me and pushed his chair back so he could get to his feet.

He rushed to me and offered me his hands. I took them cautiously and let him lift me to my feet.

"Sorry about that," he said coolly. "My wife told me you probably wouldn't appreciate the theatrics. Guess she was right."

"What the hell is this, Tristan? Is that paint on your face?"

He glanced ar