Vicious - Bhones
Ghost
Idon’t wake to noise. I wake because the room has shifted its balance.
It’s subtle – nothing out of place, no sudden sound – but the air feels…redistributed, like weight has moved from one side of the scales to the other. I stay still for a moment, eyes closed, letting my body catalogue what my instincts have already flagged.
There’s no intruder in the room, so after a beat, I exhale and open my eyes. Honey’s sprawled across the far bed, one arm flung out like he dropped where he stood. Hatchet’s corner is quiet in that deliberate way of his – stillness with intention behind it. He’s dozing in the armchair instead of sharing one of the double beds – his preference, I guess.
Snow and Nightshade’s absences are a shape I’ve already learned to account for.
Good,Donnelly mutters.Let them feel it.
Kayla isn’t where she was. Before, she was curled up in Bones’ arms, fast asleep. But now she’s sitting on the edge of the bed, back straight, feet flat on the floor. Bones is still snoring softly behind her. She’s awake in a way that has nothing to do with fear. The hoodie she pulled on earlier has slipped off one shoulder, pale skin catching what little light the city bleeds through the curtains. Her hands are clasped loosely in her lap, thumbs rubbing together in a slow, repetitive motion.
She’s steadying herself.
She always does that with her hands,Silas says quietly.Like she’s reminding herself she’s real.
She hasn’t noticed I’m awake yet.
I don’t move. I don’t want to intrude on the moment before it finishes forming. I watch the rhythm of her breathing – measured, controlled, but held a little too high, like she’s hovering just above stillness.
The room feels pared back. Shape. Heat. Space. Everything unnecessary stripped away.
After a minute, she speaks.
“I’m awake.”
No apology. No explanation. Just a fact placed gently into the dark.
I sit up slowly, careful not to jolt the mattress. She turns her head at once, eyes sharp, already focused.
“You okay?” I ask.
It’s the only check I offer.
She thinks about it. Looks toward the window, then back to me. “I don’t know ifokayis the word,” she says. “But I’m…here.”
That’ll do,Silas says.She’s still with us.
She studies my face for a second, searching. Not for comfort – something else. Permission, maybe. Or proof I won’t try to steer her.
Whatever she’s checking for, she doesn’t find resistance.
“I don’t want to lie there and stare at the ceiling,” she continues. “And I don’t want to talk all of this to death.”
“Alright,” I say. Talking’s overrated if you ask me anyway. I much prefer to communicate through paint, and the longer I go without a brush between my fingers, the angstier I become. So I guess I know how she feels.
“I don’t want to be held like I’m fragile,” she adds, sharper now. “I don’t want anyone soothing me.”
I let her finish. Her jaw tightens slightly, like she’s bracing for an argument that never comes. “I need something solid,” she says. “Something that reminds me I’m in my body. That it’s mine. That I ownsomething.”
Fair,Donnelly says.Talking’s done its job. She wants weight.
I swing my legs over the side of the bed, slow and deliberate, making sure every movement is visible. I sit on the edge of the bed, my posture mirroring hers unconsciously. “Tell me what you want,” I offer.
She doesn’t answer right away.
