And then she was gone. At five years old, I learnt how silence could bury a person alive. Twenty now, I’d survived on that silence, sharpened it into armour, into knives, into something that couldn’t be touched.
Thenshewalked in. Didn’t even speak, and yet, somehow, she dragged the same reaction out of me.
She looked at me with those too-gentle eyes, and my shoulders loosened without my permission. She nodded when I asked a question, nervous but still answering me, still acknowledging me, and that was enough to undo me completely.
She didn’t need to speak. She didn’t need to try. She justexisted,and I heard my mother’s echo in the way my body betrayed me.
I never thought I’d find someone who resembled my mother. Not in looks, Aurora was nothing like her, but in the way shefelt. In the air around her. Peace. Patience. That steady, quiet presence I thought I buried with her.
My mother stayed soft even when I was tearing the walls down with tantrums. Aurora… she stayed soft even while I was tearing her apart. I’d dragged her through hell, yet she still nodded when I spoke, still met me with those eyes as if she didn’t know she was supposed to hate me.
And it fucking sucked. Because I already lost one gentle soul that was too soft for our rotten home. I couldn’t lose another because of my rotten self.
What ached more than anything was the thought of letting go. I didn’t want to. I couldn’t. Maybe, just maybe, if I stayed close enough, if I kept her within reach, I could hold on this time. Keep this one.
But fear’s a traitor. It whispered that she’d leave me just like my mother did, like everyone. And before I could stop myself, I was already sharpening the knife, already cutting her down, already making her bleed.
It’s easier to hurt her first than to wait for her to hurt me.
And still, some sick part of me hoped she wouldn’t leave anyway.
Chapter Three
Aurora
The universe hated me. There was no other explanation. The email landed in my inbox this morning like a sentence being handed down in court:You will shadow Joshua Lockhart for the next few weeks.
My chest had sunk to the floor. I hadn’t even done anythingthatbad in this life to deserve a punishment this cruel, so maybe it was karma reaching across timelines. Sins from another life, unfinished debts.
And now I was paying them here, one shaky breath at a time.
I stood stiff beside the bleachers, folder clutched tight to my chest, pen balanced against the spiral of my notebook. My fingers wouldn’t stop fidgeting, tapping the cover in a rhythm too fast to be casual. A pathetic attempt to bleed off nerves before they strangled me.
He was out there, commanding the field like the crown prince he was, whistle hanging from his neck, teammates looking to him like he carried the universe in his palms. And me? I was the unwanted shadow assigned to trail him. Close enough to watch. Close enough to hear him. Too close.
The thought of speaking froze my lungs. So, I didn’t. Couldn’t. My throat was already closing up at the idea of trying. Instead, I held on to what I knew, what I trusted: pen and paper. If heasked me anything, if I had to tell him what I was here for, I would write. Silent words on a page, safer than letting my voice break the air. Safer than letting him hear me.
Still, even with the plan set, my stomach knotted. Because no matter how much I tried to convince myself this was just another assignment, it didn’t feel like one. It felt like standing on the edge of a cliff, waiting for the ground to fall away.
The second my shoe hit the edge of the field, his head snapped up. Joshua Lockhart spotted me instantly. Of course he did. He always did.
He passed the ball off with casual ease, tossed a quick instruction to a teammate, then jogged toward me with that unhurried confidence that made everyone else step out of his way. Everyone but me.
I took an involuntary step back, my folder clutched tighter to my chest like it might shield me.
Notebook. Pen. Fast.
I scribbled before he could even open his mouth.I’m here for football.I turned it toward him like proof, like maybe he’d accept the excuse without digging.
His brow arched, head tilting as he leaned just enough to glance past the notebook at me. “You mean soccer?” His voice carried that mocking lilt, smooth but edged.
I wasn’t fazed. Couldn’t afford to be. So I hummed. Just a short sound of agreement, low in my throat.
The reaction was instant.
His eyes darkened, sharpened, locked onto me like the world had narrowed to that single hum. His lips twitched—almost curving, almost betraying the deadpan mask he lived behind—but in a blink, it was gone. The blank expression was back.
Still, I saw it. And worse, I felt it. Joshua Lockhart was… happy? Not the kind of happy people usually were, butsomething rawer, hungrier. Extra charged, like my single hum had given him more than it should have.
