The silence between them was stretching again, heavy like fog, thick enough to choke on if you weren’t careful, and Sophie didn’t know what scared her more, the fact that Drake looked like he was ready to talk, or the fact that it had taken this long for him to decide she deserved the truth.
They sat by the fire that night, no food, no glasses of wine, no soft music humming in the background like the last time, just them and the low crackle of burning wood, and for once, no one was pretending things were fine.
Drake looked tired, more than tired, he looked worn thin at the edges like a photograph that had been touched too many times, and his fingers were twitching slightly, as if there were words trapped under his skin trying to claw their way out.
“I’ve been finding out more than I should,” he said finally, voice low, rough, not from anger but from the weight of everything he hadn’t said—and Sophie didn’t interrupt, just waited, because she knew the dam was about to break.
“Everythin
