At the past.
At Noah’s blind confidence.
At Kai’s goddamn handwriting carved into my bones.
At the fact he was in this room and I didn’t wake up.
Every thought that used to make me shake now makes me clench my jaw.
“He thinks he can break into my house,” I whisper, eyes narrowing. “Slip letters under my nose. Crawl back into my head like I’m still some scared little girl who can’t handle the dark?”
My nails dig crescents into my palm.
“Fuck that.”
I stand up—slow, deliberate—moving to the bathroom door. I place my palm flat against the cool wood.
It’s still warm from my panic.
But beneath that warmth is something else.
Resolve.
“I’m not running again,” I murmur under my breath. “Not from him. Not from anything.”
Noah shifts behind me on the bed, muttering something incoherent. I glance back at him, jaw tightening.
He looks peaceful.
Safe.
Like nothing in the world can touch him.
And for the first time, that pisses me off.
“You really have no idea, do you?” I whisper. “You sleep like nothing could ever happen. Like danger doesn’t slip through locks and stand over people while they dream.”
I feel the heat rise behind my ribs?—
not fear.
Not guilt.
Fire.
That’s what Kai’s letters did.
That’s what waking up gasping did.
That’s what hearing his almost-voice in the dark did.
They lit me up.
And I’m not extinguishing that flame again.
I step back into the doorway, stare into the dark corners of the room as if he might still be watching from them.
“Fine,” I whisper.
