Its petals curled open like a confession laid bare. Waiting to be heard.
The night dimmed. Sounds dulled.
No.
The memory slammed into her, cold and unrelenting.
Morgantown.
A concrete garage.
A rose tucked beneath her wiper blade.
A whisper that had followed her for months.
Her stomach dropped.
The voice that lived in her nightmares found her—You can’t keep running.
Her hands twitched at her sides.
Keys or phone? Move.
But she didn’t. Not this time.
She wasn’t that girl.
One step. Another.
Her boots crunched over pavement until she stood in front of the rose.
Every muscle coiled tight. Her chest drawn tight beneath the cold.
It was too perfect.
No thorns. No jagged edge.
She remembered the first one—its stem had teeth.
A warning wrapped in beauty.
This wasn’t that.
This was a message.
Clean. Intentional.
Her breath sharpened.
Heat coiled in her gut.
Rage rising through the fear.
Try me.
She ripped the rose from the glass and crushed it in her palm.
Velvet petals gave beneath her grip. The bloom snapped with a sickening softness.
