The comms cut.
I turned on my heel and stalked out of the room.
Her door was half open.
I paused in the hallway, hand on the frame, grounding myself with the smallest detail of the sticker she’d slapped crooked across the wood last week. It was some dumb thing from a protein bar wrapper. Said “High Voltage Energy.” She thought it was hilarious.
Now it just looked like a ghost.
I pushed the door open and stepped inside.
Amanda’s scent hit me first. Even if she was using my shampoo and body wash she still somehow smelled of vanilla and lemon and something warm underneath it all. My sweatshirt was draped over the back of the chair. Her mug still sat on the nightstand with half-melted cocoa sludge clingingto the rim. The bed wasn’t even made. One of her socks was bunched near the foot like she’d kicked it off in a rush.
It wasn’t a shrine.
It was just her.
So alive it hurt to look at.
That was the worst part.
If it had looked staged, if it had felt preserved, maybe I could’ve compartmentalized it. Turned it into something distant.
But this was unfinished.
Interrupted.
She’d been planning to come back.
I crossed the room and crouched next to the dresser. A folded pile of laundry sat there, half-finished. One of her tank tops was tucked inside out, the tag sticking up like it was waiting to be fixed.
I touched it, just two fingers, barely a brush, and felt the weight of it hit my chest.
She’d been here. Hours ago. Maybe minutes before I walked out that gate like a fucking idiot.
I clenched my fists tightly.
I stared at the clothes. The blanket she always dragged to the common room when she wanted to watch bad movies. The bent paperback on the floor. The dent in her pillow where her head had rested last night.
She was so close.
And so goddamn far.
“I’m coming,” I said, the words barely above a whisper.
I stood, locked my shoulders, and turned toward the door.
“I swear to God, Amanda,” I said louder, voice steady now. “I’m bringing you home. And the people who took you? They’re gonna wish they never drew breath.”
This wasn’t hope.
It wasn’t faith.
It was a guarantee.
I didn’t look back as I walked out.
Because I couldn’t.
