Page 37 of Silent as Sin
I set the bag on the bed, hands trembling a little as I opened it again. The sight of what was inside made my chest tighten in ways I hadn’t expected.
Clothes. Folded neatly. A brush. A couple of books with crisp spines.
Small things. Ordinary things. But for me, they weren’t small at all.
I touched them slowly, brushing fingertips across the fabric like they might disappear if I wasn’t careful. It had been years since I’d had something that was mine—truly mine.
When I turned back, Ashen was still there.
He leaned near the door, shoulders filling the frame, the leather of his cut shifting when he crossed his arms. His gaze was grounded, unblinking but unreadable, and it pinned me in place.
He cleared his throat and pushed off the door. For a moment, I thought he might leave, but instead his hand dipped into his cut. When it came out, he held a small box.
He crossed the room and set it on the bed. No explanation. No demand. Just quiet expectation.
I stared at it. My heart thudded harder.
A box meant something deliberate. A gift.
I didn’t move at first. My mind spun, questioning why he’d bring me something beyond what I needed. Nobody had ever done that.
Not since I was seventeen.
After my parents died, I’d stopped expecting things like gifts. Birthdays blurred into empty days. Holidays passed unnoticed. I learned to take care of myself, to keep my wants small and silent, because wanting only ever led to disappointment.
And when Venom took me… gifts came twisted, cruel things meant to remind me I was his possession. His pet.
I hadn’t been given anything kind in so long, I didn’t know how to reach for it now.
Still, my fingers trembled toward the box, picked it up, and lifted the lid.
Inside was a bird.
Glass, delicate, wings stretched wide mid-flight. Light from the window struck its curves, scattering tiny rainbows across the walls. It shimmered in my hand, fragile yet somehow stronger than it looked, like it might lift into the air if I just let go.
My breath hitched.
I slid it carefully into my palm. Cool and smooth against my skin, heavier than it looked.
Not paper.
Not fragile folds that could crumple at the brush of a finger.
Something meant to last.
Ashen’s voice broke the silence, low and rough. “Figured you’d like it.”
The words cracked me open.
He knew how much birds had come to mean to me. He’d seen the birds I folded again and again, fragile wings waiting for a freedom they could never have. And he’d answered them with this.
Tears welled, hot, and I blinked hard, pressing my thumb along the glass wing.
My throat ached with words I couldn’t push out.Thank you. It’s beautiful. You don’t know what this means.But the sounds snagged behind my ribs, locked away like always.
Ashen shifted, like he meant to step back, to give me space.
Something inside me panicked at the thought of him leaving.
