Page 30

Me.

In this.

For… Alaric?

Something deep inside me clenched with the thought. My breath caught. Heat followed.

No.

That wasn’t me.

I pushed the nightgown back inside and yanked the top back over. It caught on the edge, not quite falling into place.

I left it.

I made sure I didn’t catch my foot on the edge of the rug and made my way to deep rose chaise that lay under the towering windows. I sat and pulled the thick, grey throw across my legs, turning my attention to the book I’d grabbed.

The book opened easily. Like it’d been waiting. The pages were soft. Worn. Not decorative. Used. I didn’t read the title. Didn’t need to.

The world doesn’t pause for the ones who are breaking.

I kept reading.

There’s no grace in the moment of falling. Only in what comes after.

The words didn’t hold.

My eyes caught on a line halfway down the page.

There’s nothing ugly about survival.

My breath slowed.

I read it again.

Then again.

Like it might change if I looked away.

It didn’t.

My fingers hovered over the page. Something in my chest shifted. Quiet and unfamiliar. The words didn’t soften anything. Didn’t fix it. They stayed instead. Pressed there like they were waiting for me to believe them.

I turned the page, lifting it between my fingers. Something caught in the crease. I paused. Careful. Then eased it free. A flower pressed flat. Faded. Fragile enough it might break if I breathed too hard. I held it in my palm. Still intact. Still… here.

It felt…untouched. Something so… fleeting. I cupped it in my palm, then flicked back to the front of the book. A need flickered—quiet, persistent. A need to understand. The worn cover fell open easily, leaving the title page to reveal.

But focus went to the inscription on blank page on the left.

For L.

So you remember.

That was it. No initial followed. Nothing else that told me who owned this book, or who gave it. My hand trembled. Broken thumb curled underneath. Still, I held that tiny flower as though it could somehow fill a void inside. But it didn’t. It just sat there. Soft sunlight filtered through the sheer curtains, touching the brittle edges.

It didn’t belong trapped within the pages of a book.

It belonged out there.