Chapter 2

He was the one who drove Mathias to his death in my last life.

"You’re back?" His voice was flat, completely unreadable.

"Jonathan, this is Tyler." Mom gave me a small push, her face instantly bright with a practiced smile. "Tyler, say hello to your Uncle Jonathan."

I stepped forward and gave a slight bow. "Hello, Uncle Jonathan."

Jonathan turned a page in his book as if he hadn’t heard me. A few seconds later, he let out a quiet hum through his nose.

"Mm."

His gaze flicked briefly to my wet shoes. His brow creased ever so slightly. "The carpet was just replaced."

He lowered his head again, returning to his book. "The first room on the left upstairs is the guest room. It’s been cleaned out."

"Thank you, Uncle Jonathan," I said.

Mom visibly relaxed and pulled me toward the stairs.

"See? Your Uncle Jonathan is a good man." She lowered her voice. "As long as you don’t upset him, you’ll be able to stay in this house."

The room was large and empty.

"Mom." I stopped her as she was about to leave.

"What now?"

"I want to switch rooms."

Her expression changed instantly. "Tyler Clark, you just got here, and you’re already being picky? What’s wrong with this room? It’s a hundred times better than the dump your father lives in. Don’t be ungrateful."

I looked at her calmly as she vented, only speaking after she finished.

"There’s nothing wrong with it. It just faces north. It’s too cold. I want a south-facing room. It doesn’t matter if it’s smaller."

I really was cold. The brain tumor had thrown off my body’s ability to regulate temperature. It felt like I was trapped in a freezer all the time. Only sunlight gave me even a hint of warmth.

"Cold? Then turn on the A/C." Mom looked at me like I was being unreasonable. "The south-facing room is your Uncle Jonathan’s study. The other one is a storage room."

"Then I’ll take the storage room."

Her eyes widened. "Are you insane? You’re turning down a perfectly good guest room to live in a storage closet? Are you trying to make your Uncle Jonathan think I’m abusing you?"

Her voice turned sharp and shrill.

I pressed my fingers against my throbbing temple. It was too loud.

"I’m just afraid of the cold," I repeated.

Just then, there was a soft knock at the door. Jonathan stood there at some point, holding a glass of water, his expression dark.

"What’s all the noise about?"

Mom immediately switched her demeanor, her voice trembling slightly. "It’s nothing, Jonathan. Tyler’s being difficult, complaining about the room. I’ll discipline him right away."

Jonathan looked at me.

I met his gaze. His complexion was pale, his lips nearly colorless. He looked like someone already halfway to death.

"Where do you want to stay?" he asked.

"The south-facing one." I pointed toward the end of the hallway.

"That’s where the old furniture is."

"That’s fine. As long as there’s sunlight."

He fell silent for a moment. "Suit yourself. Just don’t shout in the hallway."

With that, he turned and left, completely uninterested in the dispute between mother and son.

Mom jabbed a finger against my forehead, frustrated. "Do whatever you want. Living in a storage room… What will people think of me?"

I ignored her. Carrying my woven sack, I walked to the end of the hallway and pushed open the door.

A wave of dust hit me in the face, but I saw the floor-to-ceiling window. When the sun rose tomorrow, this place would be warm. That was enough.

I made the bed and placed the photo album under my pillow. The diagnosis report was tucked inside. As long as I didn’t die, no one would bother digging through my things.

That night, I slept deeply.

No debt collectors in my dreams. Only endless, boundless darkness.