She hides it well. Mostly. But she’s fourteen. Fear leaks through the cracks.
Ava reaches for her hand. “Hey. It’s okay. We’re safe here.”
Safe. Maybe they are. I’m not sureIam.
The wind slams into the cabin again, a deep, heavy thud that rattles the door latch. The lights flicker once—twice—beforeholding steady. My breath catches anyway. I can feel the shift in the air pressure. Feel the whiteout collapsing around us like a suffocating curtain.
Violet stiffens beside Ava, body drawn tight as a bowstring.
Before my mind can catch up, my body moves.
I cross the room in two strides and pull both of them toward me—Ava’s arm under my hand, Violet tucked instinctively under the other. They come willingly, easily, like they’ve always belonged in the circle of my arms.
Ava gasps softly, surprised. Violet melts into my chest without hesitation.
Outside, the wind wails. Inside, everything goes still.
For one suspended heartbeat, for one impossible moment… this feels like family.
Ava’s head fits against my shoulder, warm and soft and close enough that her breath brushes my throat. Violet is solid and small on my other side, her forehead pressed into my shirt, trusting me without question. My arms tighten around them—protective, instinctive, primal—as if the storm can’t touch them if I hold on hard enough.
Something in me loosens. Something else breaks.
This is dangerous. This is wrong. I shouldn’t feel this. I don’t get to have this. I don’t get to hold warmth this close or touch safety with my bare hands. I don’t get to imagine anything good—not after everything I’ve already lost, not after the ways I’ve broken myself trying to outrun it.
But the cabin hums gently around us. Ava’s fingers curl unknowingly into the fabric of my shirt. Violet lets out a shaky breath that hits me like a punch to the ribs.
They fit here. With me.
Too well. Far, far too well.
My chest tightens, breath catching in a way that has nothing to do with fear of the storm and everything to do with the reality that I’m drifting toward them without meaning to—like gravity has finally found something else to pull me toward.
I release them abruptly.
Ava sways a little at the sudden loss of my arms. Violet blinks up at me, confused.
“I—sorry,” I mutter, stepping back too fast. “The wind just… caught me off guard.”
Ava studies me, head tilted slightly, eyes too perceptive for comfort. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” I lie.
The lights flicker again, but it’s nothing compared to the way my pulse stutters in my throat.
I move to the opposite side of the room, pretending to check the fireplace, pretending to adjust the lantern, pretending I’m not shaking like someone peeled open my ribcage and exposed every fragile thing inside.
Behind me, Ava murmurs to Violet, soothing her with that soft, steady tone that could talk lightning out of the sky. They settle together on the couch, wrapped in the thick knit blanket.
The storm keeps raging.
Inside me… one is building too.
And I have no idea how to survive this one without losing pieces of myself I can’t afford to lose.
Chapter Sixteen
Ava
