The air out back was thick and wet, the kind of Charleston night that clings to your skin. I hauled the bags across the cracked concrete, the alley buzzing with the sound of a far-off streetlight and the sound of some guy’s laughter spilling from the front of the bar.
I tossed the trash into the dumpster and brushed my hands on my jeans, ready to head back inside—when I heard it.
“Lark?”
The sound of my name carried differently this time. Not loud. Not urgent. Just… known.
My body reacted before my mind did. A sharp inhale. A hitch in my step. The kind of response you don’t unlearn, no matter how much time passes.
I turned slowly, already afraid of what I might see, and when the figure stepped into the light, my chest tightened so hard it almost hurt.
He looked older. Leaner. But the way he held himself, the angle of his shoulders, the familiar tilt of his head as he studied me—it all slammed into me at once.
For a heartbeat, my brain refused to believe it. He couldn’t be real. Hewasn’treal. “Zach?” The name tore out of me like breath after drowning.
He moved closer, hands lifted in something like peace. “It’s me,” he said, voice softer now. “Why do you look so scared?”
“You’re dead,” I whispered, backing toward the door. The light hit his face—brown hair, darker eyes. Older. Thinner. But still him. Still the boy I once thought I’d die for.
“No, Lark,” he said, shaking his head. “I’m not. They didn’t kill me. They sent me away.”
My throat tightened. I’d buried him in my heart years ago—cried for him, cursed the flame for taking him. And now here he was, alive under a streetlight, wrecking everything I’d built to move on.
“Why let me believe you were dead?” My voice cracked, tears burning my eyes.
“It wasn’t my choice,” he said, a rough edge creeping into his tone. “You know how it was, how they made the rules. I couldn’t stop them. I couldn’t even tell you goodbye.”
“Then why now?” I demanded. “Why come back?”
His gaze darted over his shoulder into the dark. “Because I’m free. For now. The ones who rebuilt—if they find me, they’ll drag me back. I don’t have much time.”
My stomach twisted. “Zach—”
“Meet me tomorrow morning,” he cut in quickly. “Out by the edge of the property you’re staying at, where the trees thin out.” He stepped closer, lowering his voice. “Don’t tell anyone you’ve seen me. Not your friends. Not the people you live with.”
The old instinct—the one that would protect him with my life—flared before I could stop it. I nodded. “I promise.”
Relief softened his face, and when he reached out, his fingertips brushed my cheek. The touch was achingly familiar, tender in a way that cracked something open inside me. Memory rushed in again, bitter and sweet all at once.
“I missed you,” he said. “Every single day.”
Then he stepped back and vanished into the shadows like a ghost dissolving at dawn.
I stood frozen, heartbeat hammering against my ribs. Zach—alive. The thought didn’t fit. It scraped against everything I’d rebuilt, everything I’d started to believe again.
The door banged open behind me, and I jumped.
“Lark?”
Chain.
He filled the doorway like a wall, broad shoulders, eyes scanning the dark before landing on me. Concern carved deep into his face.
“What are you doin’ out here?” he asked, voice soft, calm, but threaded with worry.
I forced my lips into a smile, my heart still racing. “Just needed a minute,” I said lightly. “I’m still getting used to all the noise inside. Thought I’d take a breath.”
He studied me, eyes narrowing just enough to let me know he didn’t buy it completely. Then he stepped close, wrapping those strong, inked arms around me.
