Chapter Three- Splinters of Home

Celeste’s POV

Five hours later.

Everyone had left. The wolves, Thorne, and Lila were the first to leave, while I knelt in the rain, staring at their graves as though staring too much would bring them back to life.

But eventually, my body gave up. I dragged myself back into the house, soaked to the bone, mud filling the walls. The walls smelled like home and strangers at the same time.

And then I heard her.

“I didn’t think you’d leave their graves,” Lila’s voice floated across the room, sugar-slick and venomous. She was leaning against the kitchen doorway, twirling a strand of hair like this was just another afternoon. “Thought you wanted to go down and be buried alongside them.”

“Oh no,” Thorne’s voice joined hers, easy, mocking. “You want her to curse your parents in their graves if she were to go down with them?”

They burst into laughter. Not nervous laughter. Not grief. Actual laughter. My fingers dug into my damp dress. I could taste bile creeping up my throat.

Before I could even speak, my uncle walked in. The same man who’d told me my parents were dead and his eyes swept over me like I was dirt, something that needed to be discarded immediately with alacrity.

“Attention everyone,” he said, his voice like a blade being sharpened. “I’ll say what I’m going to say now, once. And I expect you both to take immediate action.”

Lila and Thorne straightened slightly, but only to smirk. I wiped my face with the back of my hand and nodded, even though my chest was still a battlefield.

“This house is mine now,” he said first and final, just like that.

For a second, I thought I misheard him. I almost laughed, the sound cracked and bitter. “That’s impossible,” I said. “This house belongs to our parents. It belongs to us. It cannot”

“You’ve no say on this matter, Celeste,” he cut in, voice colder. “I’m telling you now: you need to leave. With immediate alacrity.”

I blinked at him. Shock. Fury. Disbelief. Every emotion crashed at once. “And why,” I hissed, “do you think you have the right to chase me out of our parents’ house? This is our house!”

He didn’t flinch. Instead, he flung a rolled-up paper at me. It slapped against my chest and fell into my hands.

A sales agreement. My parents’ signatures. His name.

“It’s impossible,” I choked. “Dad and Mom wouldn’t” My voice broke. “They couldn’t. This is a lie. You’re a liar!”

I tore the papers to shreds. The pieces floated to the floor like dead leaves.

“The earlier you get over your delusions, Celeste,” my uncle said flatly, “the better for you.”

“I’m getting married to Thorne,” Lila added, her tone sweet and smug as she rolled her eyes over me like I was something stuck on her shoe. “So I’ll be moving into his house. And you…”

“She’ll end up on the street,” Thorne and my uncle finished together like they had a bloody rehearsal.

Their words didn’t just land they carved something out of me. My throat burned, but no sound came. The walls of my home felt smaller, darker. The ghosts of my parents felt like they were watching, powerless.

And I just stood there, mud drying on my skin, realizing in one brutal moment that I had lost everything.

"Drag her out of the house," my uncle added and Thorne stood away from Lila, his arms gripping mine as he dragged me out of the house, ignoring my desperate screams to be freed to no attempt.

"I hope you live the rest of your cursed life wretchedly, Celeste,"

He said and banged the door in my face.

I wobbled myself up, staring again at the house with my eyes darting to my parents' grave.

A small whimper escaped my lips as I turned away from the house to nowhere in particular.

I had nothing.

My body was beginning to shiver coldly, and if I didn't find a place to stay, I'd collapse and most cruelly, die.

I saw a buzzing bar and dragged my feet towards it, the harsh smell of alcohol wafting through my senses as I walked in.

"Can I speak to the owner?" I asked one of the waitresses who walked past me.

"And you're?" She asked, darting a dirty glare at me.

"Um nothing, I just need to..."

"If you're here for money?" She said with a pause.

"You cannot find it, accommodations, or anything else? This isn't a shelter, you need to..."

"I'll do it," I cut in. The store was short of staff and hiring me wouldn't be a hassle.

"I'll work for you," I said again, stepping closer.

"I don't want you to..."She dragged, but I was desperate and I couldn't bear to go back outside again.

I fell to my knees, bowing before her.

"I'll do everything you ask me to do, all I request is just a place to sleep and eat," I pleaded

“You look like someone who just awoke from the dead, how do you…” The waitress started, but her words trailed off as she took in my knees pressed into the sticky floor, my palms clasped like I was at an altar instead of a bar, my soaked dress clinging to me. Her face softened for half a heartbeat, then hardened again, like she couldn’t afford softness.

“You can’t kneel here,” she hissed, glancing around. “Get up before they”

“Please,” I whispered, my voice shaking, barely audible over the thump of bass and laughter. “Please, just let me talk to whoever’s in charge. I’ll scrub floors, wash dishes, sweep, anything. I won’t even ask for pay. Just somewhere to sleep. Please.”

Around us, people had started to notice. Men at a corner table with cards in their hands paused mid-game, smoke curling from their mouths as they watched. A woman in a dress at the bar turned her head slightly, curiosity glinting in her eyes. A bouncer near the door shifted, his massive arms crossing over his chest.

The waitress sighed, exasperated but not cruel. She bent down just enough to murmur, “Get up. The owner doesn’t like beggars on the floor.”

I forced my shaking legs to stand. My knees cracked as I held onto the edge of a table for balance, aware of the dirt dusting off me onto their polished floorboards. Shame crawled up my neck, hot and itchy.

“Follow me,” she muttered finally. “But if he says no, you leave. Understand?”

I nodded, heart thudding so hard it hurt.

She led me past the tables, past the blur of faces, to a heavy door at the back. The smell of beer and grease gave way to something sharper: tobacco, old wood, paper. She knocked once.

“Come in,” a man’s voice said.

The office was dim, lit by a single lamp that threw long shadows across the room. A big man sat behind a scarred wooden desk, shirt sleeves rolled to his elbows, his hair silver at the temples. His eyes flicked up from a ledger and landed on me. Not with surprise. With calculation.

“What’s this?” he asked, voice slow, deliberate.

“She says she’ll work,” the waitress said. “For a place to sleep. Looks like she needs it.”

His gaze moved over me, mud, bruised knees, hollow eyes. “Name?”

“Celeste,” I whispered.

“You got experience?”

“No,” I said quickly, before he could ask more. “But I learn fast. I’ll do anything. Please. Just a cot. Just a night.”

He leaned back in his chair, studying me. The silence stretched, broken only by the muffled thud of music from the other room.

Finally, he said, “We’re short of a waitress, you'll work alongside Elyse, no tips, no mistakes. You stay in the storeroom out back. It smells like beer and rats. That’s all I can offer.”

Relief flooded me so fast I swayed. “I’ll take it,” I breathed.

“Good.” His tone didn’t soften. “You start tomorrow night, get yourself ready,"

The waitress gave me a look not unkind, but not warm either. “Come on,” she said. “I’ll show you the storeroom.”

I followed her down a narrow hallway. The music faded behind us, replaced by the hum of a cooler and the drip of a leaking pipe. She opened a door and flicked on a light.

The room was small, crowded with crates and the sour tang of old beer. In the corner sat a thin mattress, no sheets, just a blanket that had seen better decades.

“It’s not much,” she said, handing me a rag. “But it’s dry. Clean yourself up first. I’ll get you some water to wash up.”

“Thank you,” I whispered.

She gave me a long look, then nodded and left.

Alone, I sank onto the mattress. My fingers clutched the rag like it was a lifeline. The air smelled of damp wood and stale hops, but it was warmer than the rain.

And for the first time since my parents’ bodies lay in the mud, I felt a flicker not hope, not yet but something like breath returning to my chest.

I didn’t know if I’d last here. I didn’t know if I’d ever reclaim what was mine.

But for tonight, at least, I wasn’t outside.