The monsters come next. Horned, faceless, curling shapes in black and gray, creeping closer, boxing her in. The little purple girl looks smaller and smaller, swallowed by the dark.
By the time I stop, my hands are shaking. My throat aches. I don’t want to look at it anymore, but I can’t stop staring at her—at me—trapped inside everything I hate, everything I can’t escape, everything that scares me.
I push the paper toward her with trembling fingers.
She studies it silently, then turns it back around so it faces me again. Gently, she taps the tiny purple figure at the center. “This,” she whispers, “is where you are. This is the starting point.”
Her finger moves across the monsters, the words, the darkness crowding in. Then her eyes lift, locking onto mine with a steadiness I can’t hold.
“And from here, Nova... we begin.”
Something cracks inside me. My throat burns, and suddenly I’m laughing—a small, broken sound that turns into tears before I can stop it. “She looks pathetic,” I choke out, staring at the purple girl. “She looks so... weak.”
“She doesn’t look weak. She looks brave. Brave enough to show me her monsters. Brave enough to start.”
I shake my head, wiping at my face, embarrassed. “I hate her. I hate that she’s me.”
Her voice softens, but there’s no pity in it. Only certainty. “Then let’s help her become someone you don’t hate.”
I look at the paper again—at the messy little version of me, at the monsters circling her—and for the first time, I wonder if it’s possible. If maybe, just maybe, I can make her stronger.
CHAPTER SEVENTY-THREE
Nova Marshall
PRESENT (2024)
“Everybody needs that one person that takes you to the right place to see all the positives in your life.”
Christina Aguilera
I launch a strawberry jelly square at Holly, who squeals like I just threw a brick at her. Maggie’s sipping her apricot juice like a queen on her throne, and Aurora’s curled up in a blanket, holding her steaming apple-cinnamon tea like it’s the elixir of life.
We’re all crammed into the living room of Vincent and Sam’s house—or, well, now alsomyand Maggie’s house. It’s a cozy disaster: pillows everywhere, mugs half-empty, plates scattered across the coffee table, and laughter bouncing off the walls.Too Hot to Handleplays in the background on Netflix, the contestants whispering about “temptation” while we laugh at every single dramatic pause.
It’s Saturday night. Will’s working again—he usually alternates weekends, but this time he’s stuck with back-to-back shifts. Apparently, Will managed to talk the owner into lettingMax play a short set, which of course turned into the boys hyping each other up like it was Madison Square Garden. And I love it.
The guys are finally starting to get along better. It’s not perfect—nothing ever is with them—but they’re actually trying now. They joke instead of snap, laugh instead of glare. Even Steven and Max, who used to look like they were two seconds away from strangling each other, are learning how to share the same space without the air catching fire. And Sam... well, he swore he’d stop jumping into every fight like some lawyer of lost causes. For once, he’s (mostly) keeping his word.
It’s progress. Real, honest progress.
But even so, there’s this emptiness none of us can ignore. Like the picture’s almost complete, but the frame’s wobbling because the most important piece is missing. Vincent. He’s the glue, the anchor, the gravity that pulls everyone into place. Without him, everything feels... off-balance. And I know it’s not just me who feels it. We’re all counting down the days until he’s back. Even Holly—who hasn’t even met him yet—keeps saying she can’t wait.
The truth is, I can already imagine it. All five of them together—it’s going to be chaos in the best possible way. Will with his smile that could win over literally anyone, no effort required. Steven with that razor-sharp wit that can sting if he wants it to, but when he turns it playful, it’s impossible not to laugh. Sam with his loyalty stitched to sarcasm, throwing out dry comments that somehow make you feel seen instead of judged. Max with his quiet steadiness, the way he grounds people just by being there—like an anchor you don’t even realize you’re leaning on until the storm hits. And Vincent... Vincent, who ties them all together, who makes everything brighter just by existing.
The five of them? They’re dangerous in the most beautiful way. A perfect storm of charm, smiles, and energy that could make anyone’s heart skip. They don’t even have to try—justexisting, just being themselves, they’re enough to leave the world dizzy.
And me? I can’t wait for Vincent to come back. Because when he does, it won’t just be better. It’ll be whole.
Wecould’vegone out tonight, maybe even shown up at the bar, but honestly? We wanted this. Just us. A girls’ night. The first time it ever happened was at the bakery, when Will got it into his head that he was going to cook something. He nearly burned the kitchen down, Steven threatened to hang him from the chandelier, and Sam and Max had to rush in to play firefighters. Meanwhile, the four of us ended up abandoned at a table with sodas and a plate of cookies. That’s when it all began.
We’re all so different—different strengths, different flaws—but together? Somehow, we work. Like four cars on the same train, rattling along toward the same destination, each one its own kind of disaster. Ahot mess express, I guess. But it’s beautiful.
I can’t believe I have three friends at the same time. Three girls I can text about everything. Three girls I can binge-watch dumb reality shows with, or stay up all night talking to, or fill a group chat with a thousand useless memes and fifty-seven voice notes.
It used to be just me and Aurora, before... well, before that thing she still doesn’t want to talk about. I get it.
Then it was me andmy Maggiefor a while
