Page 97 of Twisted Violet
He steps aside immediately, handing me the spatula like it’s sacred.
I roll up the sleeves of my sweatshirt and grab a clean pan.
The kitchen smells like sugar and burnt batter and something else I can’t quite name.
Home, maybe.
Rome appears again, this time with a mug in his hand. He sets it quietly on the counter beside me. I glance down. It’s my favorite tea.
He doesn’t say a word, just walks away.
I keep cooking.
Dallas sticks by me, watching me like he might learn something, even though we both know he won’t.
By the time I plate everything, eggs, toast, actual pancakes that aren’t charcoal, everyone else has stirred.
Ezra claims the first plate with a low whistle. Tristan mumbles something about “finally edible,” and Niko gives me the closest thing to a smile I’ve ever seen on his face.
They’re eatingmyfood.
And for the first time since those flowers showed up, I feel like I can breathe again.
Not because everything’s fixed, not because I’m healed, but because they’re still here.
And maybe that’s all I’ve ever needed.
THIRTY-SIX
VIOLET
I don’t feelit right away.
The shift, the pull, the warning.
I’m in the kitchen rinsing dishes, humming something under my breath, when my phone buzzes.
A single vibration against the kitchen counter.
I dry my hands and pick it up.
There’s no preview.
Just a message icon with a small gray dot.
I open it.
And the world stops.
It’s a photo.
Of the living room.
Of all of them.
Sleeping.
Stevie’s lying beside me. Dallas is on the floor. Niko is nodding off against the wall. Ollie is tucked under Ezra’s leg. Rome’s back is against the couch, like he didn’t mean to fall asleep. Trisis slumped over at the kitchen island, and Cyrus and Atlas are slouched in their chairs like they’re still on alert, even while they’re sleeping.
