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“You two are up early.” Takeshi’s voice, extra deep and rugged in the morning, sounded from behind them.

Her breath hitched. Even with his black hair slightly messy and tussled from sleep, Takeshi still looked like he’d waltzed off one of those magazines they came across in the ancient gas station.

“We were up all night. Weren’t we, Khalani?” Brock grinned, the innuendo in his voice unmistakable.

She glared at Brock, but Khalani didn’t immediately refute his words because a sadistic part of her wanted to see what would happen.

Takeshi silently appraised them, a hint of barely contained violence flashing in his pitch-black eyes. She held her breath, unsure whether round two of their unfinished brawl was about to commence, but Takeshi simply straightened, ever stoic and calm.

“Interesting. I didn’t hear any screams last night.”

“What’s that got to do with anything?” she asked.

“Anyone who knows what they’re doing would make your vocal cords raw.” His dark eyes pierced hers. “Either he’s lying, or it was the most boring lay of your life.” With that, Takeshi turned his back on them and walked away. And somehow, it felt like he was the victor in an invisible battle Khalani didn’t know she was a part of.

She frowned and rubbed the corners of her eyes.

It was too early for this.

Brock snorted and followed Takeshi, but not before he glanced back over his shoulder. “Like I said, if I were you, I’d give up on some people faster.”

Her fists clenched, wanting to punch the nearest wall. Repeatedly. And knowing Brock was right made her want to direct her fists inward.

Khalani retreated to the far corner of the room and preoccupied herself with Ana’s diary.

She was unable to control the chaos or terror that slept in future daybreaks, but she could read the story of a little girl who once was alive, and commit her to memory.

No one deserved to be forgotten. That was why Winnie worked furiously to record Apollo’s history in her book.

The past reminded them of how far they’d come.

After her fifth re-read, she turned to an empty page in the diary, her fingers trembling as she reached for the dull pencil.

Wherever Ana was, Khalani prayed she wouldn’t be upset for the havoc that bled onto her pages.

The quiet yearns to be heard

Those tendrils of loss whispering in the air

Your story screaming out to be heard

Especially when there’s nobody there

The dark demands to be seen

Blank spaces that were once taken

Lives on pedestals for us to judge

Filling dreams that will no longer awaken

The mind needs to be spoken

A cacophony of words slipping off your tongue

Steady is the path for those who listen

Turmoil waits for those who retreat