The sweatpants he wore on lazy Sundays when he cooked breakfast barefoot.
The pen he always carried but somehow kept leaving here.
The key he left on my counter, that I hadn't gotten the nerve to use for his place, and now never would.
Every piece was a thread tied to the dream I’d let myself believe in. A future where mornings meant coffee made too strong, and evenings meant him, sprawled on my couch, arguing about whether we could call his overly dry, pan-seared chicken ‘actual cooking’.
A future where I got to be soft. Where I wasn’t always holding my breath, waiting for the ground to give way beneath me.
I blinked hard and shoved another item into the box.
The ache in my chest spread until it hurt to breathe.
I wasn’t ready to hate him.
But I couldn’t stand the way his ghost clung to every corner of this place.
I was halfway through stacking his things when I found a note sticking out.
Harlan’s handwriting.
I couldn't read it.
I folded it carefully, once, twice, three times, until it disappeared into my palm and threw it in the box.
By the time I was done, the box was heavier than it looked. It felt like I’d packed pieces of myself along with his things.
I stood there for a long time, staring at it, my throat tight.
I couldn’t see him. Not yet. Not with this hollow ache still raw and open.
“Remi,” I called, voice rough.
She appeared in the doorway, brows drawn. “Yeah?”
“Can you…” I gestured toward the box without looking at it. “Can you drop this at the station for me?”
Her gaze softened. “You sure?”
I nodded. “I can’t...” My voice cracked, and I forced it steady. “I can’t deal with seeing him. Not yet.”
Remi crossed the room, didn’t say a word, just rested a hand on my shoulder for a beat before she pulled me into a hug.
I stared at the box like it had personally offended me, trying to hold back the tears.
For the first time since leaving the station, I felt it settle in my bones:
Whatever I thought we were building…
It was gone.
CHAPTER 42
HARLAN - COLOUR OUTSIDE THE LINES
Most people think rot starts loud.
That it smells. That it spreads like smoke or blood.
