Page 76 of A Wild Darkness

His mouth tilts. “That’s one way to summarize years of trauma and poor coping mechanisms.”

“Efficient, though.”

“I prefer justice-oriented entrepreneurs.”

I stare at him. “No.”

“Community-minded problem solvers?”

“No.”

“Morally questionable public servants?”

“Nah.”

His smile returns, but it doesn’t erase the sadness in his eyes. “River understood,” Sebastian says after a moment. “Not all of it. But enough. We both knew what it was like to lose people and watch the system keep breathing like nothing had happened.”

I nod slowly. Because of that, I understand. Not in the same way, but grief has lived in my house, too. It sat at our dinner table every night, on the anniversary of my mother’s death and her birthday. It slept in my hallway and folded itself into my dad’s silence and Lux’s sharp edges.

“My mom died when Lux and I were little,” I say.

Sebastian looks at me. “I know.”

Something about the quiet way he says it tells me he pays attention, maybe more than I realize.

“She was the soft place in our family,” I say. “After she died, Dad became quieter. Lux became harder. I became…”

“Stevie.”

I huff a laugh. “That sounds like an insult.”

“It isn’t.”

“No?” I study his expression.

“No.”

The breeze moves through the vines behind him. Somewhere in the distance, someone toasts too loudly. The world continues behaving as if this is a normal afternoon, but it isn’t. Not for me. And not for Sebastian. Especially with the way he is looking at me like he can see more than I intended to show.

“I started doing grave rubbings because of her,” I admit. “My mom.”

Sebastian doesn’t interrupt.

“I hate that names disappear. Weather, time, neglect. Eventually everything softens until you can barely tell someone was there.” I rub my thumb over the condensation on my glass. “So, I started taking paper and charcoal to old cemeteries. It felt like saving proof. My mom used to do it, and I like to think it was for the same reason why I do.”

“Those people existed.”

“Yeah.”

His voice lowers. “That makes sense.”

I glance up. “Most people think it’s morbid.”

“Most people are cowards.”

A laugh escapes my lips. “There he is. I was worried the sincerity was making you uncomfortable.”

“It was. Thank you for ruining it.”