I head to a very clean kitchen, thank you Silas, open the fridge, grab a beer, and twist the cap. It ping-pongs across the counter and disappears under the stove.
“Felix.”
Silas is suddenly there, silent as a horror movie, watching me.
“You good?” he asks.
“Fantastic. Living the dream.” I gesture vaguely with the bottle.
One corner of his mouth twitches. “Since when do you do sarcasm?”
"It's always been a hidden talent."
“Felix.”
“What do you want me to say, Silas?” I spin to face him. “That I’m scared shitless? That my brain feels like a snow globe someone keeps shaking? That between the anniversary and Naomi, I don’t know which way is up anymore?”
“Yeah,” he says simply. “That.”
Some of the air leaks out of me. I rest my hip against the island, head dropping back.
“Tomorrow’s going to suck,” I say.
“Yes.” He folds his arms, beer bottle dangling from his fingers. “But we’ll survive it.”
“Will we?” I ask. “You really ready to play in front of the whole town on the worst day of the year?”
Footsteps whisper behind us as Liam appears.
“Ready and willing are different things,” he says. “We don’t have to be ready. We just have to show up and do our best.”
"Fortune cookie wisdom." I take another sip. "Super helpful."
“And here’s another one for your collection,” Liam adds, unbothered. “We’ve already lived through two years of this day. Tomorrow’s not some brand-new monster. It’s the same one, just with some people watching.”
I grimace. “Love that for us.”
“But the game aside…” I add after a beat, my throat working around the words. “What about Naomi? We don’t even know if she stayed. If she’s gone—”
“Then she’s gone,” Silas cuts in, his jaw tight. “We play anyway, because that’s what moving forward is. Doing stuff even when every part of you is screaming to just lay in bed.”
I look between them. Liam’s gaze holds mine. Silas stares past my shoulder like he can see tomorrow already.
Nothing else to say, really.
“Fire’s low,” I mutter, because the silence starts getting awkward. That gets an actual snort out of Silas.
We drift back to the living room like moths attracted to light.
I crouch by the hearth, grab a fresh log, and set it on the glowing embers. Flames lick up after a second, throwing new light across the room.
Liam sinks into the armchair by the window again, Silas drops onto the far end of the couch with a huff, and I fall into my usual spot in the middle.
Two years ago, on this night, we sat there and watched the fire burn down to ash without saying much of anything. Last year, we just… drank until the date blurred.
This year, we're choosing to face the anniversary head-on.
My hands tremor, my stomach’s a knot.
