Because the truth sits like a stone in my chest:
I called for him.
I went into the woods and begged for him like a lunatic.
I screamed for a ghost that wasn’t supposed to be real anymore.
And he answered.
He always answers me.
Noah isn’t home.
The empty house aches around me, humming with something invisible, something charged. Like the walls are holding onto Kai’s breath, storing it, feeding it back to me with every inhale.
My eyes drop to the counter again.
To the box.
To the locket.
To the note.
You taste the same.
A shiver rips through me so violently I grip the counter until my knuckles whiten.
I want to throw it away.
I want to smash it.
I want to burn the whole fucking house down.
But instead—I pick it up.
The chain slides across my fingers like silk dipped in sin.
My breath shakes.
I clasp it around my neck.
The weight of it settles against my collarbones, cold enough to make my skin pebble.
Something shifts behind me.
A floorboard creaks.
My breath catches in my throat like a trapped animal.
I turn—slow, terrified, hopeful—and see only empty air.
Empty room.
Quiet house.
But my heart doesn’t slow down.
Because it doesn’t feel empty.
