“Good,” he says softly. “Now breathe.”
I do. In. Out. Slow. It’s the first time tonight I’ve really listened to him.
“You’re not alone, Magnus,” he says. “Even when you think you are.”
My throat tightens. “Why are you so good at this?”
“At what?”
“Fixing broken people.”
He laughs softly, but there’s no humor in it. “Who says I’m not broken too?”
Something in me eases. The ache dulls, just a little. We stay like that—two people breathing through static, separated by miles and choices. I don’t know how long it lasts. Could be minutes, could be hours. Time doesn’t mean much anymore.
Eventually, I whisper, “I’m sorry.”
“I know,” he says. “Get some sleep.”
“I don’t want to hang up.”
“I’ll stay.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
I close my eyes. His voice fills the space where all the noise used to be. I can almost see him sitting on the edge of his bed, phone pressed to his ear, trying not to let me hear the worry in his voice.
“I don’t deserve you,” I murmur.
“I don’t deserveyou. You deserve everything,” he replies softly.
The line goes quiet again, but I can still hear him breathing. Steady. Real. The sound keeps me tethered.
Then, faintly, a knock. I frown, thinking it’s in my head. But it comes again. Louder this time. A solid rap against the door.
“Hold on,” I say, sitting up. The room sways.
I make my way to the door.
“Probably my neighbor telling me to shut up, one sec.”
“Mags.”
I pull it open, and it’s not my neighbor. It’s him. It’s Alaric. He’s standing in the hallway, his coat damp from the rain, his eyes wide and furious and scared all at once. His phone is still at his ear, like he’s afraid to let it go.
For a second, neither of us speaks. The phone is still pressed to my ear, his voice echoing through the speaker even though he’s right in front of me.
“You shouldn’t be here,” I whisper.
“Then tell me to leave,” he says.
And I don’t.
14
Alaric
