I Will Find You의 모든 챕터: 챕터 61 - 챕터 70

HollandThe room smells like pennies and old cabbage and the kind of sweat that doesn’t come from work. I’m in the wingback in the corner—duct tape over my mouth, cords on my wrists, ankles burning where the paracord saws. The chair’s stuffing keeps sneezing out through a tear by my hip, little yellow crumbs collecting on my thigh like stale snow. If I tilt my head just right, the bare bulb throws a pale square on the opposite wall, and I can pretend it’s a window with dawn trying to come through.I breathe like Todd taught me: in through my nose for four, hold, out for four. It keeps my head from floating away when my body wants to climb out of itself.Robbie is on the floor in front of me, and also he isn’t. Sometimes he’s the boy I used to know with shame tucked behind a grin, and sometimes he’s a moving of bones, a wrong geometry pacing the tiles. He pants and laughs and sobs in the same breath, like all his feelings got invited to the same party and none of them wanted to be poli

HollandThe bulb above me hums like a gnat stuck in a jar. The room breathes out. I try to breathe in.The chair has stopped being a chair and started being a shoreline: I keep washing up and sliding off. There’s a place beneath my left collarbone that feels the way fire looks, and another at my shoulder that pulses like a mouth. My thigh is four burning wires. My boot is a cup catching what my body can’t hold.Don’t sleep.Todd’s voice, from better mornings, floats up through the noise: Breathe low. Four in, four out. Hold.I try. The numbers fall apart like wet paper. The tape on my mouth tastes like pennies. I swallow because my throat thinks that will help and it doesn’t.The wolves slam into each other five feet away and the air moves like a hand. I see fur, teeth, the slick confusion of a defective body trying to be too many things at once. I see a red coat that isn’t red so much as rust and winter and cedar, and in that color my ribs loosen, just a fraction.Remy.I can’t say i

HollandBlackness came first—thick and velvet, like someone turned the world inside out and let me sink into the lining. Voices moved through it, far away and underwater: Todd’s steady baritone, Banks clipped and sure, Remy’s voice so close to my skin it felt like warmth more than sound. They dimmed until they could have been something I dreamed on purpose.Then the black grew thin. A paler shade pressed through, the way morning edges around closed curtains.Light.Not a ceiling bulb, not hospital white—something living. I felt it before I saw it, the way you feel moonlight on a winter night: a coolness with teeth that doesn’t bite, a hand at the back of your head telling you to look up.When the light got strong enough to make a shape, it wasn’t a room at all. It was trees. Tall trunks, bark like the backs of old hands, all reaching for a sky smoothed to silver. The air smelled like pine and cold water. My shoulder didn’t feel like fire anymore. My thigh didn’t scream. Pain was there

HollandThe first thing I knew was a song.Low and round, no words—just a tone that made the air softer where it touched my skin. I was already breathing in time with it before I realized I was awake. Awake… and not in pain.I didn’t open my eyes. I didn’t have to. The room told me what it was. Oil lamps breathed rosemary and yarrow. Linen whispered when someone shifted their weight. A radiator ticked in a corner like a steady old heart. Farther off, a car idled and then gave up. Closer, two heartbeats kept an easy pattern—one heavy and calm (Todd), one tired and threadbare at the edges, holding anyway (Remy). There were others, too: Kerri’s steady healer-pulse, Banks coiled like a spring disguised as a woman.And under all of that, something new: a presence tucked at the base of my spine, quiet and alert. Not a voice, a prescence. Like a warm animal pressed to the inside of my ribs, watching with me. When the song lifted a half step, she flicked an ear. Mine. Ours. We were both here.

HollandThe great room kept its beauty simple—warmth over spectacle. No flower walls, no rented chandeliers. Just the kind of lovely that lives in things that work. Amber lamps glowed along the mantle. Bowls of rosemary and yarrow waited in the window wells so drafts would carry steadiness instead of gossip. Someone had braided red twine into the corner posts—neat protection knots like little birds at rest. On the center table: bread, salt, honey, a clay cup of water. A house’s heart, laid out where anyone could see it.I came in on my own feet. The mark at my neck hummed like a small, good secret under fresh gauze. Heads turned; quiet fell—warm quiet, not the kind that says “prove it.” Jacek straightened in the doorframe. Banks’s mouth did a rare soft thing. Todd’s eyes were already glassy, which he’d deny all night.A human ceremony is simple if you let it be: witness, vow, food. We stood where the carpet has been worn by other nights and other feet. Remy took my hands, palms up. He