The thought warms me more than my coat ever could. The past few weeks have been a fever dream: stolen kisses, secret smiles, the brush of his hand at my waist like a promise. I hadn’t meant to fall for him. Not like this. Not so fast, not so completely. But I have. And now the idea of leaving this town, of finally chasing the world I’ve been saving for, makes my stomach twist.
What is the world compared to him?
I reach the tree line and step into the forest. The air shifts immediately; colder, heavier, alive with the whisper of branches overhead. The path to the old bird-watching shed is second nature now. Mr. Harris built it years ago, but it’s ours. Our refuge from my parents’ tight smiles and tighter rules. From their endless insistence that I should be with someone like Lewis, the doctor’s perfect son with his perfect future.
They’ve never understood me. Morbius does.
The shed appears through the trees like a dark secret. I slip inside and switch on the small camping lantern. Its thin glow barely dents the darkness. I sit on the narrow bench, rubbing my hands together, wishing I’d worn more than sheer lace beneath my long padded coat. If he doesn’t hurry, I really will freeze to death.
The door creaks open. I’m on my feet in an instant, heart leaping. With a grin, I unzip my coat and let it fall open, hands on my hips.
“Merry Christ?—”
The word dies in a shivering gasp.
Silas stands in the doorway. His eyes flare, not with embarrassment, but with something darker. Hungrier.
A shriek rips out of me as I spin away and yank my coat closed. “I thought you were Morbius!”
“I guessed,” he replies coolly.
My cheeks burn hotter than any fire could manage. I turn slowly to face him, suddenly aware of how small the shed feels. Of how very alone we are.
“Where is he?” I ask, wrapping my arms around myself.
Silas doesn’t answer at first. His jaw is set so tightly I can almost hear his teeth grind. Anger flickers across his face; no, not just anger. Pain. Something raw and barely leashed.
“He told me to tell you he’s sorry,” Silas says at last. Each word sounds dragged over broken glass. “He had to leave. Urgently.”
The world tilts.
“Leave?” My voice cracks. “He didn’t say anything about leaving.”
Silas watches me too closely. “You’re cold.”
“Silas.” My chest aches. “Away where?”
“Can’t say.”
“Is it your parents? He said your mum wasn’t well.”
“I’ll start a fire,” he cuts in, already turning away.
Before I can protest, he’s gone and then back again almost instantly, arms loaded with wood. I blink. I hadn’t even heard him move through the forest.
He kneels, striking a flame. The fire catches quickly, hungrily, as if the night itself is feeding it. Heat blooms against my frozen skin.
He lifts the heavy bench as though it weighs nothing and places it by the flames.
“Sit,” he orders.
I do. He drapes a blanket over my legs. It smells faintly of smoke and something else.
“Where did you get this?” I ask.
“Brought it.”
Of course he did.
