After the maid left, fussing over me and adjusting the bedsheets, the room felt even heavier.
The air was thick.
Suffocating.
I lay there, staring blankly at the ceiling, my body still trembling from what had just happened.
Julie.
The ritual.
Losing my own body.
The thoughts spun inside me like a hurricane.
But I couldn't tell anyone.
Not yet.
Not when I barely understood it myself.
The door creaked again.
This time it was Liam.
He peeked inside, carrying a tray with soup and some bread, a soft smile playing on his lips.
But the second his eyes landed on me, the smile vanished.
"Emma?"
His voice was careful.
Too careful.
He placed the tray on the side table and walked toward me, crouching near the bed to level his gaze with mine.
"You okay?" he asked gently.
I opened my mouth to lie—say yes, brush it off—but the words got stuck in my throat.
He noticed.
His brows furrowed. He reached out, pushing a strand of my hair off my sweaty forehead, his touch feather-light, almost scared to hurt me.
"You're pale," he murmured. "And you're shaking."
I shook my head slowly, forcing a small, fake smile.
"It's nothing," I croaked.
Liam wasn't buying it.
Not for a second.
"Emma," he said more firmly, sitting down beside me. "You don't have to pretend with me."
I looked away, staring hard at the window, afraid that if I met his eyes, I would break apart completely.
He was silent for a moment.
Then, so softly I almost didn't catch it, he whispered,
"Did someone hurt you?"
The lump in my throat grew bigger.
I wanted to say yes.
Scream it.
Tell him everything about Maria Grace, about Julie, about the nightmare ticking closer and closer like a bomb inside me.
But I couldn't.
I couldn't drag him into this.
Not when the darkness was already leaking into my life from every side.
"No," I whispered finally. "I'm just… tired."
Liam's jaw tightened.
He didn't believe me.
Not even a little.
But he didn't push either.
Instead, he just scooted closer, sitting on the edge of my bed, carefully taking my hand in his.
His fingers were warm and strong, grounding me somehow.
He squeezed my hand gently.
"Rest, Red," he said softly, using the nickname he had teasingly given me after my cheeks turned cherry-red.
"I'll be right here," he added.
"No monsters are gonna get you. Not while I'm around."
My throat ached from holding back tears.
I closed my eyes tightly, pretending to drift into sleep, even though every part of me was screaming.
Liam stayed.
He didn't leave, even when I didn't answer him.
I felt him adjust the blanket over me, tucking it around my shoulders with such tenderness it broke my heart.
I didn't deserve this.
This kindness.
This safety.
Not when the storm was coming closer every day—and I didn't know if I could save any of us from drowning in it.
The rest of the day blurred by in a strange haze.
I stayed curled up under the blankets, feeling the faint warmth of Liam sitting nearby, occasionally glancing at me when he thought I wasn't looking.
Peter showed up sometime in the late afternoon, carrying a giant bag of cookies and a bouquet of orange lilies.
"Cookies for the cripple," he teased lightly as he walked in, dropping the bag onto my lap and winking.
I forced a laugh.
A real, small one.
Because it was Peter.
Because he always knew how to make me feel a little less broken.
"You're spoiling me," I said, trying to keep my voice steady.
Peter plopped down on the armchair near the window, stretching out like he owned the place. Liam, sitting on the bed beside me, gave him a half-smirk but said nothing.
I tried to focus on their easy banter — Peter teasing Liam about his bad cooking, Liam rolling his eyes and tossing a pillow at him — but my mind kept drifting back.
Back to Julie's cold eyes.
Back to the whispered promises of destruction.
"You good, Em?" Peter asked suddenly, snapping me back to the room.
I nodded too fast.
"Yeah, just sleepy," I said quickly, rubbing my eyes for extra effect.
Liam and Peter exchanged a glance.
The kind of glance that said they both knew I was lying but neither of them knew how to fix it.
Peter stood up after a while. "I'm making tea. Anyone wants some?"
Without waiting for an answer, he disappeared into the kitchen.
The second he was gone, Liam shifted closer.
"You sure you don't wanna tell me what's going on?" he asked in a low voice.
I looked at him, at those worried green eyes, and my heart ached.
"I'm fine," I lied again, smiling.
Liam didn't argue.
He just sighed softly, brushing his fingers through my hair in a slow, careful motion that made my eyes sting with unshed tears.
Peter came back with tea a few minutes later, announcing, "I almost burned the whole kitchen for this, so it better cure your everything."
I laughed — genuinely this time — and sipped the too-sweet tea while they both watched me like I was some fragile glass doll.
Chloe arrived not long after, bursting through the door like a whirlwind.
She hugged me so tight I squeaked.
"Ugh, I missed you, Em!" she cried dramatically.
I clung to her like a lifeline.
Because for a second, with Chloe laughing, Peter fake-whining about his tea, and Liam quietly tucking the blanket around my feet, it almost felt normal.
Almost.
But deep down, a cold certainty gnawed at me:
Nothing was normal anymore.
And soon, they would all know it too.
The evening slipped quietly into night.
After Chloe finished fussing over me and Liam got busy helping the maids with dinner, Peter stayed behind in my room, lingering near the window. His back was to me, his arms crossed like he was thinking about something serious.
I was still sitting up in bed, my hands fiddling with the edge of the blanket.
Something about Peter being there — steady, familiar — made the room feel a little less heavy.
"You're staring," I said softly, breaking the silence.
Peter turned around, a small, crooked smile playing on his lips. "You're always worth staring at, Blanders."
I blushed hard, and he chuckled, walking over to sit by my side.
For a long minute, we said nothing.
And then — slowly — I shifted my legs under the covers.
First my toes moved.
Then my knees bent.
It felt like... nothing holding me back anymore.
I gasped softly and threw the blanket aside.
Peter shot up. "What? What's wrong?!"
I swung my legs over the side of the bed. For a moment I hesitated — fear clamping tight around my chest — but then, tentatively, I pressed my feet onto the ground and pushed.
I stood.
I stood.
Peter just stared at me, his mouth open in shock.
"I—I can stand," I whispered, half laughing, half crying.
Without thinking, I took one step forward.
And another.
A little shaky, but real.
Peter caught me instinctively when I stumbled into him, his arms wrapping around my waist like a shield.
"You're—holy hell, you're standing," he breathed out, staring down at me like he couldn't believe it either.
I laughed breathlessly against his chest.
"I know! I—Peter, I can walk!"
He squeezed me tightly, then pulled back just enough to look at me. His eyes were shining in the soft lamp light, something deep and beautiful flickering inside them.
"You're a freaking miracle," he said.
And before I could respond, he leaned in and pressed a soft, lingering kiss on my forehead.
Warm.
Safe.
Real.
I closed my eyes and let the moment wash over me. For the first time in what felt like forever, I wasn't scared.
Not of Julie.
Not of Maria Grace.
Not of the darkness creeping closer.
Because Peter was here.
And somehow... that made everything bearable.
When he finally pulled back, he was smiling like an idiot.
"Well," he said, clearing his throat and trying to sound casual, "since you're all fancy and mobile again, what's next, Miss Blanders?"
I grinned wide. "I'm going back to school."
He blinked. "Wait, what? Already?"
"Summer break is ending in a few days," I said, feeling a strange excitement building in my chest. "And I'm not gonna sit around waiting for life to happen to me. I want normal. I need normal."
Peter stared at me for a second, then let out a laugh — a real, loud one.
"God, I love you," he said easily, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
I froze, staring at him.
He froze too.
Realizing what he just said.
The air between us charged so quickly it was almost painful.
"I mean—" he stammered, running a hand through his messy hair, "—as a friend. Obviously. Friendly love. Platonic. Very—"
I laughed, cutting him off, my heart doing somersaults inside my chest.
"You're such a dork," I said.
And instead of correcting him, I just leaned my head against his shoulder.
He stayed perfectly still, then gently rested his head on top of mine.
We stayed like that for a long, beautiful time, both pretending we weren't blushing, both pretending everything was simple.
But deep down, we both knew —
Everything was changing.
And this was just the beginning.
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