I let out a shaky breath, my mind not wanting to let go of him, so I just kept thinking, imagining.
He humiliated you, Aurora.
Cold. Rude. Scary.
Your worst nightmare.
You cried because of him.
You flinched because of him.
And yet—
He got me lunch.
Picked my comfort over his team.
Carried my bag.
Didn’t push me away when I sat near him.
It doesn’t make sense.
How can the same person be both the wound and the bandage? How can someone who made you crawl through the mud now make sure you don’t trip walking home?
I pressed my palms over my face, groaning into them.
He was still Joshua Lockhart, the boy who made me hate this place, the one whose voice used to freeze my lungs. But lately, when he spoke, it didn’t freeze me. It steadied me.
And that was the scariest part of all.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Aurora / Joshua
Aurora
It had been two weeks and a few days.
Wednesday. December eleventh.
Colder, busier, Silverwood always felt heavier when the holidays crept close. Lights were being hung between the trees outside the library; students were rushing across the courtyard with coffee cups and deadlines, scarves pulled high enough to hide from the wind.
I tugged my coat tighter, the fabric stiff from the cold, and kept walking. The air smelled like frost and roasted chestnuts from the vendor near the art building. It almost felt peaceful, if it weren’t for the ache in my head.
My fingers were stiff as I flipped through the notes I’d taken these past few weeks of shadowing Joshua Lockhart.
The pages rustled, full of bullet points and observations, written in my neat, obsessive handwriting.
Nov 26 — drills in the rain, team morale good. Coach left early, Joshua stayed behind to check equipment.
Dec 2 — minor argument with team over new formation. Resolved calmly.
Dec 6 — silent practice, no incidents.
I stopped walking, scanning the words again.
He was… normal.
