Page 67 of Hollow

I can’t stay in my room anymore. I can’t keep hiding from him, from Flint, from myself.

I know I said we needed to cool off, but I’m fucking freezing now.

I’m out the door and down the stairs before I realize I’m moving. It’s only when my boots sink into the wet ground, when the wind catches in my hair, that I feel the truth of it. I need to see him. To talk about the thing between us, burning silently, threatening to explode.

The morning mist clings to my skin as I make my way across the grounds. Each step feels like a decision I can’t take back. Like crossing someinvisible line that’s been drawn between us since that night in the maze.

He’s waiting by the edge of the maze, hands shoved deep in his pockets, shoulders tense as I approach. At first, he doesn’t say anything, simply lets his eyes linger on mine, and it feels like standing too close to a fire, dangerous and strangely comforting.

“Hey,” I manage to say, breathless from the cold or maybe from him.

“Briar.” It’s almost a sigh, like he’s been holding onto my name for days and can finally release it. “Been wondering if you’d ever come out.”

“Yeah, well…” I look away, unsure of how to start. “I can’t keep hiding forever.”

He nods, like he understands more than I expect him to.

“Walk with me?” he asks.

I follow him through the gardens, the ground squelching under our feet, a mist of rain starting to sink into my coat. There’s a strange solace in the silence, a calm before whatever storm is waiting to hit us next.

“The plants I used... they’re working faster than I expected. Another week, and there’ll be nothing to find.”

I try not to think about what that means—Liam’s body decomposing beneath the soil, eaten away by whatever Damiano planted. The image makes my stomach churn.

“Have you seen Flint?” The question escapes before I can stop it.

Damiano’s jaw tightens. “No.”

“Is he okay?”

“Why wouldn’t he be?” The sharpness in his tone cuts through the mist between us.

“After what happened... after what I?—”

“After you fucked him on top of Liam’s grave?” His words are harsh, but his expression isn’t. There’s hurt there, yes, but something else, too—something that looks strangely like understanding.

I flinch but hold my ground. “Yes. After that.” I draw a deep breath. “I have to say something.”

He keeps his pace beside me. “About what?”

“About Flint.” I bite my lip, forcing the words. “About us.”

He glances at me, and that hurt is in his eyes again, so raw it makes me ache. “Seeing you with him…”

“I don’t regret either of you.”

Damiano stops, catching me off guard. “What does that mean?”

“It means I’m not going to apologize for wanting you both. For needing you.” The words tumble out, unsteady but real. “You make me feel safe, like I’m not completely fucked. Like maybe we’ll survive this. Flint makes me—he makes me feel alive.”

“Alive,” he repeats, like it’s a foreign word, a concept he hasn’t touched in years.

I search his face, desperate to know if any of this makes sense to him.

“But I also know it’s not fair to expect you to be fine with?—”

He kisses me, and this kiss is nothing like before. It’s slow, searching, like he’s trying to find himself in the wreckage of the night at the cemetery. He cradles my face in his hands, and the tenderness in his touch makes everything else feel far away. My heart pounds as I press closer, afraid to break the fragile, perfect moment.

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