Yours, even if you’re not mine,
Ben
I sat there long after I finished, letter clutched in my lap, tears streaming unchecked. Anger still simmered — hot and justified — but underneath it was something softer. Ache. Understanding. The raw honesty I’d begged for.
He hadn’t begged me to come back. Hadn’t demanded anything. Just laid himself bare and let me choose.
The ring on my finger felt heavier now. His mother’s ring. A promise he’d made when he thought he was losing me forever.
I folded the letters carefully, tucked them into my pocket.
The lodge was still ransacked around me — drawers gutted, papers strewn — but it didn’t feel as terrifying anymore. Ben was out there somewhere, fighting his own battles. Protecting his people, like Henry said. Dealing with Lucia’s threats.
And for the first time since I’d stormed out, I wondered if maybe — just maybe — there was room for one more chance.
But the thought evaporated almost as soon as it formed, replaced by a colder, sharper realization.
I had no way to reach them.
Not Ben. Not Henry. Not even Lucia.
I didn’t have Ben’s phone number. He’d never given it to me, not once in all the days of the Game, not even when he was bleedingout in my arms. Henry’s number had only ever come through on official retreat correspondence, and I’d deleted those emails in a fit of rage the day I got home. Lucia… sweet, fierce Lucia who’d slipped me extra desserts and called me ‘cara’ when no one was listening… I didn’t have hers either.
They were gone. Completely off the grid. And in a town like Stonewood, where the rich disappeared behind gates and NDAs, that meant something.
I stood slowly, the ring on my finger catching the dim light as I flexed my hand. My chest tightened with a new kind of worry — not just for whatever mess I’d left Ben in, but for all of them.
What kind of threat made them clear out an entire estate overnight? What had happened to Lucia that required immediate action? Was she hurt? Hiding? Worse?
And Ben — still healing from stitches, still carrying the weight of Vivian’s looming deadline — was he safe? Was Henry with him, watching his back like always? Or had whatever drove them away caught up to them?
The ransacking suddenly felt less like random vandalism and more like a warning. Someone had been here. Someone angry. Someone looking.
I pulled out my phone anyway, muscle memory making me scroll through contacts I knew wouldn’t be there. Nothing. I even opened the retreat app I’d deleted days ago, but it was gone, only returning an error now. No emergency contact. No way to ping Henry through whatever secure system he used.
I was cut off. Completely.
The silence of the lodge pressed in, heavier now.
I couldn’t just leave. Not without doing something.
I rummaged through the scattered papers on the desk until I found a blank sheet and a pen that still worked. My hand shook as I wrote, the words coming out messier than I wanted.
Ben, Henry?—
I came back. I found the letters. I read them. All of them.
I don’t know where you are or what’s happening with Lucia, but I’m worried. About her. About both of you. Please be safe.
I’m not ready to forgive everything yet. I don’t know if I ever will be. But I needed you to know I heard you… really heard you.
If you get this, please find a way to let me know you’re okay.
—Chrissy
I folded the note once, then again, and set it on the desk blotter, weighing it down with the same heavy brass paperweight that had survived the chaos. Right in the center, where no one could miss it.
I stared at it for a long moment, throat tight.
