My pulse roared in my ears.
And then?—
A message popped up from Cliff.
Cliff
Persephone. Are you okay? What the hell is happening?
Do you need me?
I stared at the screen like it might burn me.
Then typed before I could stop myself:
I can’t leave.
He responded instantly.
I’ll come to you.
And I let the words happen.
Yes. Please.
Because I couldn’t take the silence anymore.
Not when it felt like it was wearing his voice.
I shoved my phone into my pocket, heart hammering against my ribs like it was trying to escape.
The kitchen was too quiet.
The shattered plate still lay in pieces on the floor—sharp white fragments glinting in the sunlight like tiny landmines, a perfect monument to everything I was trying not to feel.
I stared at it for a long second, then exhaled sharply through my nose.
Pull yourself together.
Cliff didn’t need to see me like this—hollowed out and brittle, one wrong word away from falling apart. I grabbed a broom from the closet and started sweeping; the bristles scraping against tile with every rough drag. Each crunch of porcelain was satisfying in its finality.
If I couldn’t control anything else, I could control this.
Clean. Wipe. Breathe. Repeat.
I moved through the kitchen with tight, clipped efficiency, wiping down surfaces like I could erase the memory of his voice, his gaze, his body standing too close.
But it was everywhere.
He was everywhere.
His scent still clung to the room—coffee and soap and something darker. Something that made my stomach twist with equal parts dread and… something I didn’t want to name.
Focus.
I tossed the shards into the trash like they were pieces of myself I didn’t need anymore.
One last swipe of the cloth. One last breath.
