Page 30 of Silent as Sin
His gaze swept the room once before finding me on the bed, surrounded by my paper flock, my hands clenched too tight around the newest bird.
“You’ve been busy,” he said. His voice was soft, even, but it carried something else too. Concern.
I dropped my eyes to the bird in my lap, shoulders hunching. The ache in my chest clawed deeper, full of questions I didn’t dare ask.
Ashen stepped inside, shutting the door with a quiet click that sealed us off from the noise outside. His boots thudded low against the floor as he crossed the room, each step unhurried, deliberate, as if he was waiting for me to tell him to stop.
I didn’t.
When he reached the bed, he lowered himself onto the edge. Close enough that I felt the heat rolling from his body, but not close enough to crowd me.
“Something’s wrong,” he said. Not a question. No push, no demand. Just certainty.
My fingers stilled on the paper. I couldn’t look at him.
He exhaled rough, dragging a hand down his face. His jaw ticked, the sound of his teeth grinding tight. “If it’s Roxy…” His voice hardened, clipped with anger. “If she said anything to you, tell me. I’ll handle it.”
The name cut jagged through me. My throat worked, but no sound came. I folded the bird again, my hands shaking, the edges crumpling beneath the pressure.
Ashen leaned forward, his forearms braced on his knees, his presence filling the space between us. “Look at me, Wren.”
Slowly, I did.
His eyes locked on mine—steady, fierce, unflinching. “I told her I wasn’t interested in what she was offering. You understand? She doesn’t matter. Not to me. Not to this club. And sure as hell not when it comes to you.”
The words landed like blows and balm all at once. My lips parted, the ache in my chest straining for release. I wanted to believe him. God, I wanted to. But the silence pressed heavy around me, pinning the words inside.
So I set the bird down on the blanket with the others, its wings trembling like it could break apart under its own weight, and hoped he could see everything I couldn’t say.
Ashen’s gaze followed it, lingering on the fragile shape before lifting back to me. His jaw flexed, the hard lines softening when he spoke again.
“You don’t need to fold yourself into pieces to prove you matter, Wren.” His voice dropped, quiet but forceful. “You already do.”
The words lodged deep, raw and unfamiliar, as if they were meant for someone else but landed square in me.
My chest ached. My throat burned.
I couldn’t answer. Couldn’t push the sound past the wall inside me. But my fingers moved on their own, loosening fromthe paper bird and brushing against his hand where it rested on the blanket.
The contact was light, accidental maybe, but I didn’t pull back.
For the first time since Roxy’s laugh had chased me from the room, the weight pressing on my chest eased just enough to let me breathe.
***
SLEEP WOULDN’T COME.
I’d tried, curled tight under the blanket, eyes squeezed shut, counting the slow drag of my breaths, but every time I blinked, my mind replayed too many dark thoughts. Too many images I couldn’t shut away. Venom’s voice. Roxy’s laughter. The whispers that clung sharper than knives.
Even Ashen’s words, solid and certain, hadn’t silenced them.
The walls felt too close. My chest too tight.
I slipped from the bed, feet silent against the floor, and eased the door open. The hallway stretched dark and quiet, the earlier rumble of voices gone.
Cool night air swept over me as I stepped outside. The desert spread wide and endless, the sky spilling full of stars. Crickets hummed steady in the brush, a low chorus against the dry wind. Somewhere far off, a coyote called, long, lonesome, reminding me how vast the world really was.
Ashen sat on the porch steps, broad shoulders bowed forward, a cigarette glowing faint between his fingers. Smoke curled into the air in restless threads, rising toward the endless black sky.
