Stevie and Atlaswalk me up to the guesthouse, but they don’t hover.
They don’t ask if I’m okay.
They don’t need to.
Because I think, they finally see it.
Not just the pain I carried.
Not just the cracks in my voice or the scars on my skin.
But the strength that came after.
I didn’t kill him. But I didn’t have to. I looked my monster in the eye… and I walked away before he could take anything else from me.
That wasmychoice.
And whatever happens to him in Ezra’s basement is none of my concern.
The guesthouse is beautiful.
Stevie designed it, so of course every detail feels intentional.
The floors are warm-toned hardwood, the kind that don’t creak under bare feet. The walls are a soft, dusty sage. There’s a window seat tucked in the corner of the living room, and a line of floor-to-ceiling shelves filled with all of my favorite books. Romance. True crime. Even the manga collection I thought I lost in the move.
There are scented candles by the tub, a diffuser on the dresser, and a woven blanket in my favorite shade of lavender draped perfectly at the foot of the bed.
It’s peaceful.
Cozy.
Seriously cute.
I can feel how carefully she built this place to make me feel like I belong.
And I do.
Or… I should.
But somehow, it still doesn’t feel like mine.
It’s not comfort or beauty missing.
It’sthem.
The noise.
The chaos.
Niko, always adjusting the thermostat too low and pretending it wasn’t on purpose. Dallas, sprawling across the entire couch like he owned the place. Rome, moving through a room without touching anything, yet still taking up all the space.
This place is perfect. But I miss the mess, the presence. The feeling of being seen, even when I didn’t want to be.
I sit on the bed, arms wrapped around my knees, and let the silence settle. It doesn’t crawl across the floor like it used to.Doesn’t strangle. Doesn’t bite. It just exists.
Soft and still.
You’re safe now,I remind myself.This is your home.