Page 17

That’s all.

The silence after bleeds. I feel it settle in my chest, heavy and final. He’s right. I know it. And I know he’ll never forgive me for still being here—for being the weight his brother left behind.

The tears come hot and fast, blurring everything before I can stop them. When it finally lands—Cass is leaving—the floor drops out of my chest. The ache is familiar. The same hollow panic as losing Scarlett. The same terror of being the one left behind.

My breath stutters, then breaks.

I turn into the pillow, clutching it hard, like it might hold me together. A sound slips out anyway—thin, ruined. I press my face down and choke it back before it can grow into something louder, something that would make it real.

My sister’s voice softens, then fractures—edges catching on grief she can’t smooth out.

The room goes still. Heavy. The air tastes metallic, like I’ve bitten my tongue and can’t stop bleeding. My ribs feel cinched too tight, breath scraping through me like barbed wire.

“I just need to get away,” Cass says, voice splintering again. “I’m not abandoning her. I swear. I just—I can’t breathe here. Not right now.” A pause. “You’re the only person I trust her with.”

“I need to know why they came,” Cass adds. “And I won’t find that standing in this house.”

“No.” Malek’s voice cuts through, flat and final, cold as steel sliding between ribs. “Instead, you decide to punish her.”

“I’m not punishing her⁠—”

“Keep lying to yourself,” he snaps. “But that’s exactly what you’re doing. You’re punishing her for standing where Scarlett isn’t. Don’t dress it up. Admit it.”

I clutch the pillow tighter, breath jerking shallow. The words replay in my skull, over and over. Punishment. For breathing. For surviving.

“This will rip her open,” Malek says, lower now. Not gentle—precise. The mattress shifts somewhere beyond the wall, and behind my eyes Scarlett’s grave yawns wider, his words prying it open like I’m being laid in beside her.

Cass’s voice comes thin. Small. “Just…don’t let her do anything stupid. Don’t let her chase me. Or hurt herself.”

“I’m not promising you shit.”

“Malek—”

“No.” His voice cuts hard. “I’m not your fucking babysitter while you run. You’re being selfish.”

“I know.” Cass’s voice cracks, small and splintered, carrying a thousand heartbreaks in just two words.

Silence falls, thick as stone, settling heavy between them—between all of us.

“I’ll do this for her,” Malek says finally. “Not for you. Because if you leave her unguarded tonight, she won’t see morning.”

He doesn’t mean grief will kill me. He means someone else will finish what they started.

A heavy pause.

“If you start pulling Gospel threads,” Malek says flatly, “they won’t let you walk away.”

I drag the covers over my head, curling in tight like the blankets might hold me together. Cass’s footsteps fade down the hall. Each one lands heavier than the last. The truth she leaves behind crushes the air out of my lungs.

He isn’t staying because Cass asked him to. He’s staying because he doesn’t get to walk away twice.

The fabric clings to my cheeks—warm where I’ve cried, cold where the air sneaks in. Every breath fogs the small pocket I’ve trapped myself inside.

Shadow noses under the blanket, insistent. Warm fur brushes my calf, then his weight settles there—solid, steady. Grounding. It only makes the ache sharper, like he’s trying to fill a space that won’t stop widening.

I hear Cass before I feel her. Floorboard creak. Fabric whispering against the doorframe. I stay perfectly still, pretending to be asleep, pretending I’m not splitting open.

“I love you,” she whispers.