Beckett’s silence. The plate with my name on it. The way he was justthere, every time I needed someone to be there, without making it into a thing.
Vaelor in the kitchen, adjusting my coffee. Why? I don’t know. How Rane smelled when he sat too close. Kyron’s eyes tracking me like he could see every thought I was trying to hide.
And—
No.
Trey’s face. Gray eyes finding mine across a room. The brush of his arm as he passed me in Mark Theory. Too much space that felt like too much and not enough at the same time.
He’s not one of them. He’s not part of this. He’s—
He’s in my head anyway. Right there with the rest of them, taking up space I didn’t give him permission to take.
Fuck.
I start walking again. Faster this time, like I can outrun it. Like distance will make the ache stop, will make the faces fade, will make my stupid body stop trying to drag me back to a place I don’t belong.
You were fine before them. You’ll be fine after.
I’ve been telling myself that for two days. It keeps getting less convincing.
The sun’s going down by the time I admit I’m lost.
Not geographically—I know exactly where I am. Close. Too close. A few blocks from the warehouse, a couple turns from the market street. Maybe half a mile from the Academy wall.
Half a mile.
I’ve been walking for hours and I’m half a mile from where I started.
I stop in an alley and press my back against the wall and try to breathe. The ache in my chest has teeth now. Every inhale pulls at something raw.
Just go back.
The thought comes unbidden, and I shove it down so hard it should leave a bruise.
Go back to what? To people who are probably relieved you’re gone? To a room that was never really yours? To five men who were doing fine before you showed up—and probably better now that you’re gone?
Six,something whispers.Six men.
I press my palms against my eyes until I see stars.
You don’t belong there. You don’t belong anywhere. That’s the whole point. That’s what keeps you alive.
Fifteen years. I made it fifteen years without needing anyone.
Two weeks with them and I can’t even walk in a straight line.
Pathetic.
I slide down the wall until I’m sitting on the cold ground, back against the stone. Same position as the warehouse. Same position as every alley, every rooftop, every forgotten corner I’ve called home for the last fifteen years.
The phone buzzes.
I pull it out. 1%. The screen’s so dim I can barely read it.
Beckett:Please.
The screen goes black.
