Chapter 1
Thalia never called this late unless something was wrong.
Not annoying wrong.
Not dramatic wrong.
Real wrong.
My phone lit up on my nightstand, her name glowing against the dark, and before I even answered, my stomach tightened like it already knew.
“Okay,” she said the moment I answered. “Promise me you won’t spiral.”
“That’s not how you start a conversation,” I said, sitting up. “What happened?”
“I was at Kilokilo Mall,” she continued, ignoring me, “and I saw something I think you deserve to know.”
My heart sank.
“What did you see?”
She sent the photo before answering.
My chest went hollow.
“No,” I whispered. “That’s not—”
“I’m so sorry, Mills,” Thalia said gently. “I didn’t want you hearing it from anyone else.”
I stared at the screen until the words blurred.
“Thank you for telling me,” I said finally. “Really.”
“You’re not alone, okay? I’m on your side. Always.”
“I know,” I said. “I love you.”
“I love you too. Call me if you need me. Any time.”
When I hung up, I didn’t cry.
I went downstairs.
The living room lights were on.
That was the first thing I noticed when I reached the bottom of the stairs — too bright for this late, too normal for how wrong everything felt.
Markus was on the couch, arms crossed, attention split between the TV and the staircase like he’d been waiting. Lukas stood near the kitchen, not sitting, not leaning — just there.
Both of them looked up at the same time.
“Hey,” Markus said slowly. “What’s wrong?”
I opened my mouth. Closed it. I Tried again.
“I need to get out of the house,” I said.
My voice sounded steadier than I felt.
Markus’s jaw tightened as he frowned slightly. “Why?”
I shook my head. “Because if I stay here, I’m going to explode.”
The word hung there — ugly and honest.
Lukas didn’t ask questions. He just reached for his keys.
No questions. No hesitation. Just decision.
“I’ll take you.”
Something in my chest tightened — not panic, not relief. Something else.
Markus turned to him. “Where?”
“Somewhere that isn’t here,” I said, my voice sharper than I meant it to be.
Markus studied my face for a long moment. The way he always did when he was trying to decide whether to push or protect.
Finally, he sighed. “Be back before midnight.”
“Deal.”
Lukas didn’t look at me when he opened the door — like he was giving me space to change my mind. I didn’t.
The car ride was quiet at first.
Not awkward quiet. Not tense quiet.
The kind of quiet that lets you breathe.
Streetlights flickered across the windshield as Lukas drove, one hand loose on the wheel, the other resting near the gearshift. He didn’t turn the radio on. He didn’t fill the silence just to fill it.
“You don’t have to talk,” Lukas said. “But I’m listening if you want to.”
I stared out the window. “I just found out I was being lied to. For a while.”
“That sucks,” he said simply.
I laughed once — sharp and humorless. “Yeah. That’s one word for it.”
He didn’t ask who.
He didn’t ask how bad.
That made my chest tighten more than anything else.
We drove a little longer.
Lukas was quiet for a second.
“You didn’t deserve that,” Lukas added.
I looked at him then. Really looked at him.
“I know,” I said.
And for the first time all night, I believed it.The drive home was quiet, the kind that wraps around you instead of pressing in. Somewhere between the streetlights and the hum of the road, my eyelids grew heavy.
The world was soft.
I woke up just enough to realize we weren’t driving anymore.
The hum of the engine was gone, replaced by stillness and the distant sound of the night outside. I tried to open my eyes, but they refused to cooperate. The next thing I knew, I was drifting — warm, weightless.
“Still asleep,” Lukas murmured.
The words weren’t meant for me.
I shifted, just slightly, and felt the car door open. Cool night air brushed my skin before warmth returned. He moved carefully, like he was afraid even the air might wake me. One arm slid beneath my knees, the other steady at my back, lifting me.
He lifted me like he wasn’t sure I was real.
I must’ve made a sound, because he paused.
“Hey,” he whispered, barely louder than breath. “You’re okay.”
I didn’t answer. Sleep pulled me under again.
Footsteps followed — soft ones. The front door opened. Then another. Lukas moved slowly, like even the air might wake me.
When he laid me down, the mattress dipped just a little. A blanket followed, warm and tucked carefully around my shoulders.
He stayed.
I knew it before I felt it — the weight of someone choosing not to leave.
His fingers brushed my temple, pushing a loose strand of hair away from my face. The touch was light, almost unsure, like he was afraid of crossing a line I hadn’t drawn yet.
“Get some rest, Mila,” he murmured.
There was a pause.
“I’ve got you.”
And even in my sleep, I believed him.
