บททั้งหมดของ In the Wake of Truth: บทที่ 31 - บทที่ 40

(Jane’s POV)5:20 amThe clock blinked steadily in the dim, early hush—mocking the stillness, marking time like it knew something I didn’t.Andrew hadn’t moved from the doorway.The dream still clung to me, like the stench of something rotting, thick and stubborn, soaked into my skin and refusing to dry. My parents—the Petersons, or at least the versions I saw—still flickered at the edges of my vision, like ghosts caught between memory and make-believe. That too-wide smile. That empty plate. The television screen in the basement, showing me things that couldn’t have been there.I looked at him again. His face was unreadable, but his stance had shifted—softer at the edges. There was no urgency in the way he waited. Only concern. That quiet, terrifying kind of care that never announces itself.He took a step into the room.“That wasn’t memory,” he said gently. “Not the kind that stays fixed. It felt more like your mind trying to make sense of everything we’ve just been through. And fran

(Julia’s POV)I remained motionless for a long time after he said it.Not when he rose from his knees.Not when he muttered my name.Not even when the front door clicked shut behind him.There was the soft beep of the security lock disengaging. Then a pause. Like maybe he was lingering just outside.Or maybe he’d only gone to the car—to grab something, or to breathe in air that wasn’t thick with our undoing.I didn’t check. I didn’t move.The couch beneath me, the walls around me, even the air in my lungs—none of it felt familiar anymore.My fingers were still wrapped around the stem of the empty glass. I hadn’t realized I’d drained it. The citrus tang clung to the rim, but my mouth was dry. My tongue felt thick, clumsy.He said he did it to save me.He said I was slipping, spiraling, falling apart.And maybe I was.But he never asked what I wanted to be saved from.The silence held, taut and patient, like it was waiting for me to notice what was breaking. Not loudly. There was no dra

(Andrew’s POV)The horn's low blare echoed through the silence like a warning, steady, unhurried, and patient in the way that only Claus could be.I looked at the clock—5:58 a.m. Sharp. Of course, he was on time. Claus was never anything else.Jane looked at me from the bed, her face calm but alert, the blanket pulled loosely around her shoulders. She didn't say anything, but her eyes had a steadiness I hadn't seen in an hour—a quiet knowing. Claus was no stranger to her. Of course, she trusted him. How could she not, after everything?I reached for her hand, letting my fingertips touch it—a silent check-in rather than an inquiry."Try to get some more sleep," I murmured again, this time with a quieter voice—not out of routine, but because I meant it more than ever. “I’ll go let him in.”She nodded—just a small, quiet gesture—but said nothing. Not out of fear. Just trust.I turned and walked out of the room.The hallway was dim, cloaked in the final shadows of night. I did not switch

(Jane’s POV)An intercom crackled somewhere in the background, announcing a delay to Atlanta. A child screamed with delight at the sight of a giant rolling suitcase. Life moved, like always, indifferent to the fault lines cracking open in my mind.“It really is you,” Jerry said again, his voice steadier this time, stripped of the first hit of disbelief. There was a softer quality to it now, as if he was attempting to reconcile the woman in front of him with the version of herself that time had forgotten.His eyes traveled over me, not eagerly, but gently, as if I were a photograph plucked from an unintentionally opened drawer. He was looking for smudges, tears, and evidence that I had broken somewhere he hadn't expected.The man in the navy ball cap was now leaning against a pillar, scrolling on his phone. But the angle of his body—it wasn’t relaxed. It was poised, deceptively casual. Too casual. The other man with mirrored sunglasses stood by the Polaris News stand, unmoving. No bag.

(Jane’s POV)“I’d rather not,” I said gently, eyes meeting his.Jerry blinked once. “Of course. I understand.”He didn’t press, didn’t fumble for dignity. Just a small, practiced smile—one that looked borrowed from a different life, one in which I might have given a different answer.There was a pause, and I used it.“My ride’s waiting,” I added. “Take care of yourself.”“You too, Jane.”And just like that, the bubble burst. I stepped away.Dorris was already tugging my suitcase off the carousel, her other hand balancing a garment bag and her own carry-on with admirable efficiency. Still, I reached for one of the smaller roller bags before she could insist on carrying them all. Pride had its limits, but self-awareness had boundaries too.“This way,” I said, nodding toward the exit where our driver was likely waiting.Outside, the air was brisk with a trace of lake wind curling through the terminal’s glass exterior. Our driver, a wiry man in a neat uniform, greeted us by name and loade