Safe.
Steady.
Gone.
Outside, the winter wind howled against the camper walls. The new heater hummed efficiently, keeping the space warm in a way it never had before.
Evidence of his care. Even now. Even when she was pushing him away.
She curled up on her bed, knees drawn to her chest, and finally—finally—let herself cry.
The tears came hot and fast, years of suppressed emotion breaking free in wrenching sobs that shook her whole body. She cried for the home she was giving up. For the future she was too scared to want. For the male who loved her enough to let her go.
This is what freedom feels like,she thought bitterly.Isn't it wonderful?
It wasn't.
It was awful.
But it was safe.
And safe was all she'd ever known how to choose.
The mural was nearly finished.
Edie stood in front of it the next morning, coffee in hand—coffee she'd made herself, in her own tiny kitchen, from grounds that didn't taste right no matter how carefully she measured them.
The wall stretched before her, a riot of color and movement and history. Players frozen mid-stride, pucks suspended in flight, the evolution of a franchise captured in paint and passion. It was good work. Maybe the best she'd ever done.
And in a few days, it would be complete. Unveiled. Celebrated with whatever ceremony Sam had planned.
Then there would be nothing keeping her here.
Is that what you want?
The question nagged at her like a splinter, too deep to remove, too irritating to ignore.
She climbed the scaffolding, brush in hand, and focused on the final sections. Detail work, mostly. The kind of meticulous finishing that required concentration, that left no room for spiraling thoughts or emotional breakdowns.
Hours passed.
Her arm ached from holding awkward positions. Her back protested the constant bending and stretching. But she kept working, kept painting, kept adding tiny pieces of herself to a wall that would remain long after she was gone.
A legacy, she thought.Evidence I was here.
The idea should have been comforting. It wasn't.
Around noon, she heard the arena door open. Footsteps—multiple sets this time, lighter than Tarmek's. She tensed, not ready to face anyone, not ready to pretend she was okay.
"Holy shit."
The voice was young and awed.
Edie looked down to find a cluster of kids gathered at the base of the scaffolding, eyes wide as they took in the mural.
The community art program. She'd forgotten they were scheduled for a tour today.
"That's so cool."
