“Too late,” I said, watchin’ her stand, watchin’ the sunlight catch the edge of her scar as she turned away. “Already started.”
She didn’t answer.
Just walked out, the door clickin’ shut behind her like a final word.
The silence that followed hit harder than the noise ever had.
I stood there longer than I meant to, coffee goin’ cold in my hand, starin’ at nothin’. All I could see was that look in her eyes—like she’d already stepped halfway into someplace dark. Somewhere I couldn’t reach her.
And for the first time in a long damn while, fear settled in my chest. Not of losin’ her body. But of losin’ whatever piece of her she’d just handed back to the dark.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
THE MORNING WASstill, wrapped in that soft, goldenquiet that only ever came just after sunrise. Dew clung to the grass like the world hadn’t quite decided to wake yet, and the air carried the sharp tang of salt mixed with oil and metal from bikes warming somewhere behind the clubhouse. The sound was distant, familiar, comforting.
Too comforting.
I’d told Chain I wanted to walk by the water. Another lie. Said I needed to clear my head, let the noise settle. He hadn’t questioned it. Just kissed the top of my hair, slow and gentle, and told me not to wander far like he always did.
I promised I wouldn’t without meeting his eyes, too afraid he’d see the guilt that was eating at me.
My boots sank into the damp ground as I followed the narrow path through the trees toward the spot he’d named, each step heavier than the last. The earth felt soft and unsure beneath me, like it knew something I didn’t. Like it was trying to warn me I was already walking into trouble.
I didn’t know what I was about to find.
Only that I had to see him again.
The trees thinned as I reached the edge of the property, branches loosening their grip until the woods finally let go. Morning light spilled through the gaps, pale and quiet, catching on dew-dark grass and low brush. The air felt too still, like the world was holding its breath.
For a brief, foolish moment, I almost believed I’d imagined everything. The voice. The face. The impossible return.
Grief did strange things to memory.
Then a voice behind me said softly, “Lark.”
The air left my chest.
I turned, heart stuttering, and there he was.
Zach stepped out from between the trees like he’d always belonged there, like time hadn’t passed at all. Morning light caught his face, and I saw the ways he’d changed. He was leaner now, worn down in places that hadn’t existed in the boy I remembered. There were lines around his eyes, shadows beneath them.
But it was still him.
Those deep brown eyes that had once been my whole world. That crooked, uneven smile that used to make the walls feel farther away, the rules feel thinner.
“You came,” he said quietly, like he hadn’t been sure I would.
“Of course I did.” My voice shook, emotion pressing hard against my ribs. “I didn’t sleep last night. I kept seeing your face, thinking I was losing my mind.”
He smiled then. Not wide. Not easy. Just real. “You’re not. I’m here.”
I took a step closer before I could stop myself, my body remembering him faster than my thoughts could catch up. I searched his face, cataloging every change, every familiar line.
“I thought you were dead, Zach,” I said. “I grieved you. I buried you in my heart. I—” My throat closed. “Why didn’t you send word?”
His eyes softened, pain flickering there like an old bruise. “They didn’t give me a choice, Lark. You know how it was. They said I was unworthy. Sent me to work for the prophet.” His voice dropped. “I couldn’t reach you. If I’d had a way… I would’ve crawled through fire to get back.”
Tears burned hot behind my eyes. For years, I’d told myself I’d made peace with losing him. That I’d learned to live around the hole he left behind.
