Now it has.
They wonder aloud if they should ask me directly. Put me in the hot seat. Shake some answers loose. I press harder against the wall, my hands curling into fists as I try not to breathe too loud, too deep. My chest aches from the effort.
I can feel the weight of their decision gathering in the air, thick and electric, like a storm about to break. They’re close. Too close. And then—
Rowen speaks.
He wants to check on me, sure—but not yet. Not before he checks on Ronan. There’s something in his voice I don’t hear often—a softer edge buried beneath the grit. Guilt, maybe. Concern. Whatever it is, it slows them down. It buys me time. Rowen reminds Emerson that it’s been over a day since they last checked on me, but even that isn’t enough to pull them toward the door.
My heart slams so hard I swear it knocks something loose inside my chest.
Ronan’s alive.
I know it now—not because I’m hoping, not because my instincts are reaching for comfort, but because of the way they speak about him. Because of the worry threaded through their voices.
Their footsteps start to recede, measured and purposeful, moving down the hall toward Ronan’s room. They don’t say much, but they don’t need to. Just hearing his name spoken like he still belongs to this world—like he hasn’t slipped into the past—is enough.
He’s alive.
Relief washes over me in a quiet, unexpected wave. It doesn’t erase the danger or the pain still waiting on the other side of this moment, but it lifts something heavy from my chest. If Ronan’s survived this long, if he’s still breathing after everything that went down, then maybe—just maybe—he’s strong enough to make it through the rest.
And that thought alone gives me enough strength to face whatever comes next.
I wait. Motionless. Listening until I’m sure they’re gone.
Only then do I let myself breathe again.
But just barely.
Because whatever happens next, I know I’m on borrowed time.
The door clicks open with the softest sound, but in the heavy, oppressive stillness of the hallway, it might as well be a gunshot. My breath catches, and for a moment, I don’t move, heart thudding wildly in my chest as I wait for the guys to notice. But the house remains still, wrapped in silence, the kind that presses in around you, listening. I ease the door shut behind me, careful to guide the handle so it doesn’t make a sound. The latchslips into place with a gentlesnick, and I exhale slowly, grounding myself before I take the first step.
This house may be thick with ghosts and buried secrets, but in a strange, twisted way, it’s still partly mine. I grew up in these halls just like they did. I know which steps betray you if you put too much weight on them, which floorboards complain if you don’t move just right.
I slip through the darkness like a memory, my body recalling every hidden path, every childhood game of hide-and-seek, every late-night escape. The muscle memory never left. It carries me forward in silence, shadows wrapping around me like a second skin as I glide down the corridor.
I pass Ronan’s door with my breath caught in my throat. I don’t need to press my ear against it; I can hear the low rumble of voices bleeding through the wood. Rowen and Emerson. There’s no edge in their tone now, no anger, just quiet insistence. Words meant for someone who hasn’t spoken back. Maybe they’re telling him to hold on. Maybe they’re offering apologies they’ll never have the courage to voice once he wakes. The murmur is soft, almost reverent, and it guts me in a way I don’t expect.
My feet falter, just for a second. Everything inside me screams to turn the handle, to throw the door open, to run to his side and demand answers. To shake them until they give me the truth. Toseehim.Touchhim.Knowthat he’s still in there somewhere. Not just another casualty in the war they keep dragging me into.
But I don’t stop. I can’t. If I go in there now, I won’t come back out. I’ll crumble. And I can’t afford to fall apart when I’m this close to uncovering what they’ve been hiding. What she might have known. Reign’s absence is too convenient, too perfectly timed, and if there’s even the slightest chance that her room holds the truth, I need to find it before someone finds me.
I pass his door like it doesn’t tear something open inside me—like it isn’t the hardest thing I’ve ever done.
My fists clench as my pace quickens.
The door to Reign’s bedroom opens with a soft, reluctant sigh, and clicks closed behind me with a whisper of finality that somehow still echoes through my bones. I barely register the sound, though my senses are heightened to everything else—every creak of the floor beneath my bare feet, every faint shift in the air, every beat of my pulse hammering in my ears like a warning I can’t interpret fast enough.
My back stays to the room, my body locked in place, one hand still curled around the doorknob like letting go might cause me to come apart. I didn’t give myself time to prepare—no steadying breath, no grounding thought, no quiet mantra to hold on to. I just slipped inside, pretending this was any other room, any other night, any other version of my life.
But now I’m here.
The door is closed. The silence presses in. The space wraps around me, thick and haunted, and my body simply… stops. My mind does the same.
I try to breathe—slow, controlled—but my lungs stall halfway through. It feels like something unseen has coiled tight around my chest, squeezing with every second that passes. The air is heavier here, weighted with memory, as if the walls themselves remember what I’ve tried so hard to forget. I know I’m not ready for this. I know I never would be.
Still, there’s no turning back.