The quiet, cold kind that sharpens thought instead of drowning it.
The kind I buried the day I lied in court.
I blink hard, pushing back the tears threatening to rise again.
I’m done crying.
Fear made me weak tonight.
Fear made me small.
But fear isn’t the only thing Kai wakes in me.
I ease Noah’s arm off my waist inch by inch until he’s no longer holding me, only curled behind me, breath warm against my back.
He doesn’t stir.
I sit up silently.
The room shifts with me, all muted shadows and soft lamplight, the kind Noah thinks makes this place “calming.”
It doesn’t calm me.
It suffocates me.
I swing my legs over the edge of the bed and sit there for a long moment, letting my breath steady, my hands harden into fists.
“Fuck this,” I whisper.
The curse tastes like freedom.
I’ve been terrified for four years.
Terrified of Kai.
Terrified of myself.
Terrified of what I did to him—and what he might do back.
But the letters didn’t just remind me of guilt.
They reminded me of the truth.
Tyler.
What happened.
Why I stood in that courtroom and lied through my teeth.
Why I deserved every ounce of Kai’s rage.
My chest tightens—but not with fear this time.
With fury.
At myself.
At fate.
