Just silence.
And somehow, that silence is worse than any scream.
Because we’re both still in orbit.
But we haven’t crashed yet.
The night isthick with silence.
The kind of silence that sits heavy on your chest and doesn't lift, no matter how many times you turn over or rearrange the damn pillows. I try breathing deep, counting the flickers of the holo-clock on the wall, letting the whir of the air filter lull me into something close to stillness.
It doesn’t work.
My mind’s a live wire, sparking in the dark. Every thought loops back to the way he looked at me. Not just angry.Hurt.Lost. Like I’d gutted him with three words.
I didn’t know where to start.
It’s a coward’s answer, and I hate myself for it. But it was also true. When someone breaks you that deep, when you spend years gluing the pieces back together into a shape that barely resembles the original—you don’t juststart over.
You survive.
Then you hide.
And gods, I hid well.
But now he’s here. And I’m exposed. And everything I built is teetering on a wire I can’t seem to cut or climb.
A small soundjerks me upright.
The soft pad of bare feet on the floor.
A whisper: “Mama?”
I sit up fast. Ripley’s at the doorway, blanket in hand, thumb in her mouth—eyes wide and watery in the glow from the hallway striplight.
“Bad dream,” she says, voice small.
I don’t ask.
I just open the covers, and she climbs in, tangling herself around me like a vine reclaiming its favorite tree. Her skin’s warm. Her hair smells like the lavender soap she pretends to hate. I curl my arms around her, hand settling on the curve of her back.
She sighs.
A deep, contented thing.
And I stare at the ceiling.
I usedto think love was fire. Sharp. Bright. All-consuming.
But this?
This is a slow burn.
A steady, endless heat I never expected to carry. The kind that doesn’t flare—butendures.
She shifts in her sleep, pressing her cheek against my collarbone, and I remember the first time I held her.
Tiny.
