Confrontation

Nathan CrossThe lamp cast a muted glow over the room—soft, golden, almost tender. It mocked the storm inside me.I sat on the edge of the bed, elbows braced on my knees, fingers laced together like I could hold myself together if I just gripped hard enough. The silence in the room wasn’t peaceful—it was punishment. Every second ticked by like a verdict.Behind me, Lana lay curled on her side, small and motionless beneath the blanket. But her breathing wasn’t even. It came in shallow, fractured bursts. A hitch. A shudder. The kind that came after the crying stopped—when there were no tears left, just echoes.Even in sleep, she was haunted.She murmured something—my name. Barely audible. But I heard it. Felt it.It tore through me.The way she’d clung to me earlier, shaking, bloodless, her voice raw from screaming. The torn fabric. Her skin, chilled and exposed. Her terror. I couldn’t get the image out of my head. And now—now she was here, wrapped in one of my shirts like armor that wo

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Take Down

Lana ReyesThe sun hadn’t risen yet, but I could feel the shift in the air—the kind of cold, quiet stillness that clings to the edges of grief. When I blinked awake, the room was washed in muted gray. I didn’t know what pulled me from sleep. Maybe it was instinct. Or maybe it was the sound of someone silently breaking.Nathan sat at the edge of the bed.His back was to me, broad shoulders hunched like he was holding up the weight of the sky. His elbows dug into his thighs, hands clasped so tightly I could see the pale stretch of his knuckles. He was trembling. That was what struck me most. Not his silence. Not his disheveled hair or the way his clothes looked like he hadn’t moved all night. But the slight, constant tremble—like his body had betrayed him in a moment of stillness.My chest tightened, my mouth dry. “Nathan?”His head turned, just enough for me to see the hollow look in his eyes. That was when I knew something was wrong. Deeply, terribly wrong. Nathan Cross didn’t wear hi

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Conclusion

Nathan CrossThe scotch is warm in my hand. Untouched. I’ve been holding it for twenty minutes, maybe longer. The glass sweats against my palm, beads of condensation catching the last flicker of sunlight as it sinks into the horizon. The terrace is quiet, save for the wind, the distant crash of waves below, and the occasional click of ice shifting in my drink. But I’m not listening to any of it.I’m watching her.Lana.She’s down by the shoreline, sitting cross-legged on the sand with her back to me, like the ocean was made to cradle her presence. The dying sun wraps around her like gold leaf, turning her skin into something mythic—something divine. She’s sketching something in the sand, slow, methodical. Her head tilts slightly as she works, strands of her dark hair tumbling forward, catching the light as if even it wants to worship her.I should go to her. I should say something—anything—but I don’t. I just stand here like a man on the edge of something vast and unknowable, held bac

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บททั้งหมดของ Crossing Lines: บทที่ 21 - บทที่ 23

Confrontation

Take Down

Conclusion