CHAPTER SIX

Draven’s Point of View

I jerked awake, chest tight, breath stuck halfway in my throat. My hands were still clenched in the sheets, damp with sweat. The room was quiet, but not the peaceful kind. It was the kind that felt heavy, like everything around me was just waiting for me to lose it.

Her face lingered.

My mother.

Pale. Hollow-eyed. A ghost in her own skin.

After he left, he started falling apart. Stopped humming while doing dishes. Stopped laughing at the dumb shows she used to watch. Started muttering in empty rooms. Bottles lined her nightstand, cheap whiskey, expired pills, whatever numbed her enough to fall asleep without screaming. I was too young to understand. Too slow to stop her.

Until I found her.

Hanging.

The rope pulled tight across her neck. Her feet dangled, bare toes turned in like even in death she was unsure.

I didn’t scream. I didn’t cry. I didn’t even call for help.

I just stood there, silent and still, while everything inside me shut off.

That was the moment e