She exhales softly, her breath visible in the cooling air.
“It’s getting late,” she says, voice low.
I nod, rising. “Yeah. Let’s head inside.”
We gather our plates and glasses, walking back through the warm light that spills from the windows.
Inside, the air is still rich with the scent of roasted tomatoes, basil, and something quieter. Something that feels dangerously like home.
And for a brief, almost fragile moment, it feels like we’ve outrun everything behind us.
Then her gaze catches on the kitchen counter.
My phone lights up.
And just like that—the moment shatters.
* * *
Della
I head toward the kitchen counter, meaning to set my glass, and plate down—
But my eyes land on the screen of Dorian’s phone.
It lights up silently. One name.
LEAH.
The air leaves my lungs. My knees falter.
The plate slips from my hand but Dorian’s there—quicker than I expect. His arm catches my waist before I can completely lose balance and he lowers me gently onto the couch.
I barely feel the cushions beneath me.
I’m not here anymore.
I’m back in that sterile white hospital room, weeks after the waking up, after the darkness.
After the end.
* * *
I had just started to speak again. Just enough to whisper. My voice was hoarse, uncertain—like it had forgotten how to belong to me.
Alexandra had handed me her phone. My own was gone, destroyed. I remember staring at the screen, the numbers appearing under my trembling fingers like instinct.
Dorian’s number. Learned by heart, etched into me.
It was late. I knew it was late. But I needed to see him. To tell him that I … I was alive. To believe—desperately—that something real had survived that horrific night.
I hit the video call. It rang.
And then…
She answered.
Leah.
