By someone out in the marsh with a rifle who decided the instant of his ending.
“He didn’t know,” I choked. “He didn’t know what they strapped to him.”
“I know,” Maude said softly. “I saw. I know.”
“He said he could fix it.”
The words tasted metallic. Bitter.
“He said—he said they told him he could fix everything.”
She smoothed my hair, rocking us slightly like the motion was instinctual.
I squeezed my eyes shut—finally, blessedly—but the image was still there behind my eyelids, bright and sharp. More vivid, even. The moment the vest appeared. The way time seemed to split open. The look on his face—fear, regret, confusion. And something else. Something like acceptance.
My stomach lurched.
“I’m going to be sick.”
“Come on.” Maude pivoted us both, guiding me inside with slow, careful steps. My feet dragged over the threshold like they weighed fifty pounds apiece. My vision flickered at the edges, black creeping in, the floor tilting.
I caught the banister with one hand, gripping it until my knuckles whitened.
It didn’t anchor me.
Nothing did.
Maude shepherded me toward the kitchen without letting go of my arm. The house felt wrong again—wrong in a different way this time. Too quiet. Too bright. Too aware of what had just happened in its front yard.
She nudged me toward the sink right as my stomach clenched violently. I braced both hands on the counter as a wave of nausea wracked through me. But nothing came up—just dry heaves that left my ribs aching and my throat burning.
“Oh, honey,” she murmured, rubbing slow circles between my shoulder blades. “Breathe. In and out. Stay right here with me.”
I tried.
But every inhale caught halfway, snagging on invisible barbs. Every exhale shook.
“It’s my fault,” I whispered hoarsely.
“Absolutely not,” Maude said, voice sharp with certainty. “Don’t you say that. Not even once.”
“He came here for me.”
“He was sent here,” she corrected. “There’s a difference.”
“He called me … Haze.”
Her hand stilled briefly on my back. “I know.”
“I hate that name.”
“I know that, too.”
I gripped the sink harder, the porcelain cool and steady under my palms. The tremors came in waves now—shaking my legs, my arms, rattling my teeth.
“Maude …”
My voice cracked.
