Doesn’t reach for anything that looks like comfort.
He opens the door.
No one stands there.
Just a box.
Small. Black.
Velvet, the way a priest’s collar used to be. Like a promise wrapped around a bullet.
Rain beads across the porch, tapping softly and patient. The pines sway beyond it, long shadows stretching toward the doorway like they want inside.
Santino stares at the box like it might explode.
Like he almost hopes it does.
Slowly, he crouches and lifts it.
The way his jaw tightens tells me he already knows.
I stand behind him, hands curled useless in my hoodie, wanting to touch his back and terrified the world will rip it away from me if I do. My stomach knots so hard it steals my breath.
He carries the box inside.
Places it on the table between us.
The room shrinks around it.
Judging us.
Santino flips the lid open.
Inside—
A single chess piece.
White marble.
Heavy even without being in my hand.
Cracked clean through the neck like someone tried to be merciful and failed.
The KNIGHT.
Cold floods my bones.
There’s a folded note underneath it.
Santino picks it up.
Reads once.
His mouth tightens.
Then he hands it to me.
My fingers shake as I unfold the paper.
