Page 29 of Ghosts of the Dead

She trusted me enough to fall asleep in my arms. That shouldn’t mean so much, but it does. God, it does. I’d fight every shadow in this place to keep her that way.

No one has ever pulled me back from my ghosts before. Not Jace. Not Mars. Not anyone. They’ve tried. They really tried, but I’ve always been too far gone, too lost in the darkness to find my way back.

Until Autumn.

She’s the only one who’s ever reached into that black void and succeeded in dragging me back. She made me feel human again. More than a broken shell walking around pretending to live.

I shift her slightly, making her more comfortable, arms still wrapped around her, legs stretched out beneath us.

My gaze flicks toward Jace.

He’s wiping his hands on a rag now, pretending not to watch. But he is. I can see it in the tension of his shoulders, the way his grip lingers a beat too long on the fabric.

That’s fine.

Let him watch.

Let the whole world watch. Because right now, I’m not shaking in some shadowed corner, losing another fight with ghosts only I can see. I’m not cold, nor empty.

Right now…I’m holding something real.

Someone who doesn’t flinch from my darkness, but stands beside me and lights a torch to push it back.

“Purple,” Mars whispers. He shifts in his sleep nearby. His concussion is healing, but slowly.

I lean my head back against the cracked concrete wall behind me, letting my eyes drift closed.

The fire warms my legs. Her body settles deeper into mine.

Her presence is like a shield, wrapping around me and holding back the dark.

My heartbeat slows, the tension eases, and warmth spreads through my body in ripples.

For the first time in years, I sleep without being haunted.

Peaceful.

I used to think the day I woke up feeling peaceful would be the day I realized I was dead. Maybe one of the ghosts I spend so much time running from had finally caught me.

But that’s not true. Not today.

Today, my breathing is even. My body is warm. I curl my fingers around…nothing.

Autumn isn’t here.

That’s okay. She probably woke first. One of the others must’ve drawn her attention. I’ll confirm that before I let my pulse spike.

Still... I miss her warmth.

Something smells amazing, which makes no damn sense. Whatever Mars throws together usually smells like rot or smoke. If it’s not rotting, it’s burning.

But this? This is warm, spiced, and smoky in a good way that feels like campfires and good memories, not wreckage and warzones.

Definitely not Mars’s cooking.

My stomach clenches in response, twisting with a hunger I’d almost forgotten how to feel. I crack my eyes open.

Dawn spills through the jagged slats of our temporary shelter’s crumbling storefront. The fractured beams throw shadows across the dirty concrete floor. Light glints off metal, highlights rust in the exposed rebar, and sends ash drifting in slow, weightless spirals. The fire burns stronger now, fed with fresh tinder.

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