Aeris
I folded the letter slowly, hands trembling.
No one spoke.
Not Ronan. Not Silas. Not even Kade, who usually didn't need words to say what he was thinking.
My father's words were still echoing in my head like a heartbeat.
Forgive them if you can. Trust them if you choose.
I wasn't there yet.
But something had shifted.
And the space between us — once filled with knives and silence — now felt thick with something else.
Possibility.
The silence broke with the soft rustle of movement. Silas stood and came toward me, slower than usual, without the bounce in his step or the grin on his face.
He sat at the edge of the bed, his gaze flicking from the letter to my face. "You okay?"
It was the dumbest question in the world.
But he said it like he really meant it. Like he wanted to know the truth, not just hear me say fine.
I looked at him. Really looked.
He was the boy who once tripped me in front of the cafeteria.
The one who used to call me names under his breath with a crooked smirk.
And yet, right now, he looked like he'd take a bullet for me.
"I don't know what I am," I whispered. "But I'm not okay."
Silas nodded slowly. Then, without asking, he reached forward — his fingertips brushing lightly against my wrist where the IV line taped to my skin.
Just a touch.
Not forceful. Not dramatic.
Just there.
Grounding.
Warm.
I didn't pull away.
His eyes flicked to mine.
"You're stronger than we ever gave you credit for," he said, so quiet I almost missed it. "And I swear to you — I won't fuck this up again."
Later, after Silas left the room to get food, Kade lingered behind.
I could feel him watching me from the corner, that usual unreadable stillness in him. But this time it didn't feel cold.
It felt like heat that hadn't been allowed to burn.
He stepped forward, silent as always, and pulled the blanket higher over me when I didn't even notice it had slipped.
Then, hesitating, his knuckles grazed my shoulder.
Not a touch meant to startle.
Just… pressure.
Comfort.
Reassurance.
"I don't say much," he said, voice gravel-low. "But if you ever want the truth — the ugly kind — I'll give it to you. No sugar. No games."
Our eyes met.
And for the first time, I believed that his silence wasn't apathy.
It was control.
A way to keep himself from falling apart.
I gave him a small nod.
It was all I could offer.
And Ronan… he didn't say anything when he came back that night.
He just stood near the door as I drifted in and out of sleep, and when I stirred once — confused, half-panicked — I found him sitting beside the bed, hand resting on the edge of the mattress.
Not touching me.
But close enough that I could.
I shifted, just slightly, and my fingers brushed his.
He didn't move.
Didn't speak.
But he let my hand stay there.
Connected.
It wasn't a declaration.
It wasn't forgiveness.
But it was a beginning.
A quiet one.
And for now, that was enough.