Page 105 of Cold Mercy

The lake glows faintly under the string lights draped around a wooden gazebo near the shore. I head straight for it, needing space, needing air, needing anything that isn’t that dining room with its perfect couples and perfect laughter and one perfect woman pretending I don’t exist.

I grip the watch in my hand, turning it over and over until the metal warms against my skin. I lean on the railing, staring at the rippling water, and that’s when I notice someone sitting at the end of the dock. A small silhouette, hair catching the light of the moon, when she tucks it behind her ear. My chest tightens before my mind even finishes registering who it is.

Sophia.

She’s curled in on herself, shoulders drawn, gaze fixed on something in her hands. She doesn’t see me, which is probably better for both of us. Because the moment I see her, truly see her, something reckless in me comes alive, something that hasn’t died, no matter how hard I’ve tried to suffocate it.

I leave the gazebo and head for the dock before I can talk myself out of it. I step onto the dock, boards creaking under my weight.

“You know, Reed, when someone sits alone on a dock in the middle of the night like they’re in some dramatic movie scene, they usually want to be left alone,” she says, without turning her head, before I can even start speaking.

Her tone is dry, edged, the exact brand of sarcasm that has always undone me. I bite back a laugh because hearing her voice, even coated in irritation, hits me harder than anything I’ve felt in months.

When I get close, she snaps something small shut and tucks it into her pocket. A flash of silver, a glint that looks too damn familiar. For a breath, I swear it’s the bracelet I gave her. Or maybe my brain is playing cruel tricks on me.

I lower myself onto the dock beside her, leaving a careful distance but not enough to pretend I don’t want to be closer.

“What was that?” I ask quietly. “What did you just hide?”

She doesn’t look at me. “I think we both know it’s not your business.”

I clear my throat, desperate for anything that doesn’t expose the inside of my ribcage.

“Heard the sleeping arrangement problem got sorted.”

Great, Collins. Three months of rehearsing, and this is what you open with? I'm a fucking idiot.

She lets out a short huff that’s almost a laugh. “James always has the best ideas, of course. I love Charles, but he snores loud enough to shake the walls three rooms away. Sleeping beside him would be suicide, you can tell him I said that.”

I hear the word love and feel something twist so hard it borders on physical pain. She’s still staring at the water, fingers fidgeting in her lap, and I briefly consider jumping into the lake just to shock myself into sanity.

“My room has a bathroom, you can sleep there. Don’t let Elizabeth and James think there’s any tension just because of…you. They deserve a happy week without unnecessary complications,” she adds, voice low but steady.

She stands before I can respond, adjusting her sweater like the act of touching me accidentally would burn her. I climb to my feet too quickly, barely steady, and when she tries to walk past me, instinct takes over.

“Sophia… I wanted to talk to you.”

She exhales sharply, arms crossing defensively over her chest. It’s a wall, one I built brick by brick months ago.

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

She turns again to leave, and something inside me snaps. Pure, unadulterated panic that if she walks away now, she’s gone for good.

“For fuck’s sake, just give me a minute.”

She freezes, not looking at me, her entire body still as she waits. Just waiting like she’s counting down the seconds until she can escape the orbit of the disaster I became. But she stays.

I treated her like she meant nothing. I looked her in the eye and told her she was a distraction. I don’t let myself imagine what that did to her. I’ll never forgive myself.

She’s standing on the dock with her back half-turned, waiting out the minute she gave me. The moonlight catches the curve of her neck, and I have to clench my fists to keep from reaching out.

I inhale once, steadying myself before I speak.

“I wanted to apologize,” I say quietly.

“For how things ended. I shouldn’t have spoken to you the way I did, and I’m sorry. I know it doesn’t fix anything. I know there isn’t a sentence I could give you that would even touch what I owe.”

Her arms fold tight against her chest, like she’d rehearsed this exact conversation months ago and already built the defense she needed against my bullshit.