82

THEA

I don’t know how long I sit there.

Time doesn’t feel real. It just drags, stretching like the silence between us. I cry until nothing comes out anymore. Until I’m dry. Empty. Hollowed out in a way no one can see but me.

And when I finally stand, it’s not out of strength.

It’s because I’m too tired to stay broken.

My legs feel stiff, sore, like they forgot how to move. My eyes sting, and my throat burns from holding back more than just words. I don’t know what I expected walking in here. Closure? Comfort? A miracle?

But not this.

Not whatever this is.

I walk out of his office without a word. Without looking back. Not at the chair. Not at the desk. Not even at the door that still holds pieces of my heart on the other side.

I pass Nora again. She doesn't say a word. Smart woman.

The halls blur past me. The sound of my shoes is distant, like it’s someone else walking. Not me. Not the woman who just cried her soul out to a man who vanished like her love was a threat.

The Harrington & Vale lobby is cooler than I remember. Brighter. Too bright. My fingers tug the gown tighter around my frame as I step outside, air sharp against my skin.

I just want to sleep.

I don’t want the hospital again—not that sterile, quiet place with the smell of antiseptic and fake flowers. They can send my things home if they don’t see me again. Let them. I don’t care.

I want privacy. Peace. A room that’s mine.

A cab pulls up, as if summoned by the sheer weight of my need to disappear.

I move toward it. One foot. Then the other.

And then—

I feel it.

Eyes.

A stare. Hot. Intentional. Pinning me in place even before I look.

I turn my head slowly, like I’m bracing for something. Maybe another ghost. Another reason to shatter.

But instead—

Green eyes. Piercing. Unapologetic.

Blonde hair that gleams under the afternoon sun.

A man.

Tall. Sharp. Uncomfortably handsome. The kind of handsome that should come with a warning label.

I gulp. 

I hate that his gaze doesn’t waver.

He looks at me like he knows something. Like he sees something. So odd and so strange that it makes my skin prickles.

I look away before the fury bubbles up. Before curiosity bites me.

So funny that things as small as someone staring at me annoys me.

I don’t spare him another glance as I open the cab door, slip in, and shut it with finality.

The cab drives in silence. The city blurs past, all noise and movement, but I’m not really in it. I’m somewhere between heartbreak and sleep. Somewhere between I can’t believe that just happened and maybe I dreamed the whole thing.

But I didn’t.

I feel it in my bones.

The ache. The silence. The void where Ezra used to fit like oxygen.

It’s only a few minutes before the car slows to a stop in front of my place. The driver clears his throat, polite, like he knows I’ve been crying but doesn’t want to be rude about it.

I hand him the last cash I have in my bag. Don’t even wait for change. Just mumble a thanks and step out, the cab pulling away with a hum before I make it to the porch.

The air is still. My heart isn’t.

It’s heavy. Loud. Thudding like it’s trying to drag me back into Ezra’s office to ask him again—Why?

But I don’t go back.

I make it up the steps on legs that feel like paper. Wobbly. Cold.

I crouch beside the flowerpot and dig out the spare key with shaking fingers. The soil sticks to my nails. The metal feels unfamiliar in my hand, like everything else that used to be mine.

When I push the door open and step inside, it hits me.

The silence.

The scent of home—faint perfume, old wood, something floral from the plug-in I forgot to unplug before I landed in a hospital bed.

It’s the same.

But I’m not.

I close the door behind me, lock it, and lean against it like I’m keeping the world out.

And then—I break.

Again.

The tears come fast this time. Unforgiving. Unrelenting. Like they’ve been hiding in my bones, waiting for a safe place to spill out.

This is it.

This is my safe place.

And I still don’t feel safe.

I sink to the floor, clutching my knees, forehead pressed against them as the sobs rack through me—loud, ugly, unfiltered. There’s no one to hear them, no one to hush me or hold me, no one to pretend I’m fine for.

It’s just me.

And the ruin. Everything.

I cry for the part of me that hoped.

I cry for the version of me that whispered I love you to a man who wouldn’t even look her in the eye because of reasons best known to him.

I cry because even when I’m home, I feel lost.

Like I’m still on his desk, waiting for him to change his mind.

I just want someone to talk to.

Not to fix it.

Not to make it better.

Just… someone to listen. To hear the way I’m unraveling even though I’ve technically made it home.

The silence presses harder than it should, like the walls are watching me fold. Like even the house knows I’m not okay.

I wipe at my face with the back of my hand even though it’s useless. My cheeks are soaked, my nose is a mess, and I probably look like a ghost of myself—but I don’t care.

I push off the floor, legs stiff, head pounding, and drag myself up the stairs like my body weighs more now. Like the truth has settled deep into my bones and made everything heavier.

My bedroom door creaks open.

And I hate how untouched it looks. Like it’s been waiting for me.

The bed is still made the way I left it. The desk, the soft throw at the foot of the mattress, the barely-dried laundry I didn’t bother to fold before everything fell apart.

It’s all normal.

And I’m not.

I shuffle toward the desk, grab my laptop with shaking fingers, and crawl into bed like a child who just wants her mother. The sheets feel cool but the ache in my chest says otherwise.

I open the laptop, fingers trembling as I sign in. Then I hover over the video icon of the messenger app like it’s a lifeline.

Please be awake, Lyra. Please.

I call.

It rings and rings.

Then drops.

I stare at the screen, throat burning again. One more time. Please.

I hit redial.

The screen flickers, the call rings again—

And this time, it connects.

Lyra’s face appears, eyes half-lidded with sleep, red hair a mess of curls on her pillow. She squints at the screen. “Thea?”

And just like that, the sob tears out of me.

Louder. Rawer. Like hearing her voice unzipped something I was barely holding shut.

Lyra sits up quickly, brows scrunched. “Thea—what happened? Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

I shake my head, but the words won’t come. My mouth moves, but only sounds slip out. Cries. Sobs. The kind that feel like they’re dragging parts of me out with every breath.

She goes quiet, letting me cry.

God, I love her for that.

When I can finally breathe, even just a little, I wipe my face again. “Will you believe me if I tell you something insane?”

She frowns, eyes fixed intently on me. “You’re scaring me, baby.”

I press my fingers to my eyes, inhaling deep.

NDA be damned.

Then I whisper it.

“Will you believe me if I tell you that vampires exist?”

The screen goes still.

And for a second, I think she’s going to hang up.

But she doesn’t.

Instead, her eyes widen, and her voice drops low. “Thea… what… What the hell happened?”