“Second... time?” I ask.
His expression twists. “I... fuck.” He swallows hard. “I saw you in the park that night. I... I followed you home.”
My breath catches. “Why?”
His eyes glisten again, his face crumples. “It was late. You looked so lost. And... I didn’t want anything bad to happen to you.”
He looks away and lets out a broken, bitter laugh. “I mean...worse. Because something bad had already happened.”
The shame in his tone slices right through me. So I shift and snuggle into him, wrapping my arms around his back. My hands are dry, henna cracking against his shirt—but I don’t let go.
And neither does he.
“I’m so sorry,” he whispers again. “I willneverhurt you again. Iswearit. I’ll spend the rest of my life showing you the man I really am. The man youdeserve. I—I don’t even know why I have the nerve to say that after everything I did. ButI love you.Iwantyou. I don’t want to live without you.”
I sniff, holding tighter.
And I listen.
Because this time... it’s not just words.
His actions have been speaking long before this moment. Quiet, patient,unwavering.
I’ve seen them.
“I’m so scared,” I whisper, voice barely there. And I know I’m clinging to him as I say it. My actions are not aligning with my words but that’s all I have in this moment.
“I’m scared too,” he murmurs, lips still pressed to my skin. “I’m scared I haven’t healed enough to not accidentally hurt you again. Scared you’ll pull away because the memories I gave you are too heavy... toodamaging. Scared my words aren’t enough. Sofucking scaredthat they’ll never be enough.”
I exhale, eyes closed.
I want to tell him they are. That I see him. That I’ve felt the difference. In his eyes, his touch, his stillness.
That I believe him. Deep in my bones.
But instead, I tell him the one truth I’ve known longer than I’ve been willing to admit. The moment he gave me back my slippers, I knew.
So I lean in, trembling, heart wide open.
“I love you.”
His entire body stiffens—then folds. Like he’s been holding his breath this whole time.
He starts to shake. His arms crush me to him, and his breathing breaks.
“God,” he chokes.“Oh god.”
I just hold him. Quiet and unflinching.
FORTY-FIVE
Lucian
There is no describing the sheerterrorof watching the woman you love suddenly lose all the air from her lungs.
The way her body folded in on itself—like it was trying to protect her fromme. From the ghosts I’d etched into her mind. From the horror of whatever memory had taken hold.
Andgod, I broke right along with her.
