My breath catches. Stops entirely. The world narrows to those three letters formed by living insects.
"Yes." The whisper barely makes it past my lips.
I blink hard. Expecting the hallucination to dissolve. But the letters hold. Steady. Real.
The sweet scent of nectar. The earthy smell of soil. The cool air on my skin. All real. All grounding me in this impossible moment.
The bees scatter. Regroup. Form new words.
Paul.
Comes.
Soon.
My pulse stops. Then restarts, double-time. Hope—that dangerous, fragile thing—sparks to life in my chest.
The bees shift again. Their tiny bodies realigning with impossible precision.
R U held...
A pause. More bees join the formation.
...against UR will?
The question floats in the air. Undeniable. Inescapable.
My throat tightens. The answer is so simple. So obvious. But saying it out loud—even to a swarm of bees—feels like crossing a line I can't uncross.
I glance back. Donovan's still focused on his phone. The shadows stretch longer. Darker.
"Yes." The word scrapes out. Raw. Honest.
The bees swirl. Dance. Reform.
Escape?
"How?" My voice breaks. "I can't. They won't let me leave. I've tried. They watch everything. Every door. Every window. Every?—"
The bees shift before I finish.
Rescue.
The word hits like electricity. Every nerve fires at once. Desperation I've been burying for months surges to the surface.
"Please." Stronger now. More certain. "I need help. I?—"
The bees scatter briefly. Then reform one last time.
Help will come.
Then they disperse. Melting into the dusk like they were never there.
The garden goes still. Silent except for my ragged breathing. But the buzzing continues inside my chest. Inside my head. A promise humming through my veins.
Paul is coming.
He hasn't forgotten me.
