Page 149 of Creeping Lily

“They should’ve worshipped you,” I cry, voice shredded. “They should’ve kept you safe. They should’ve seen you.”

My body shakes so violently I can’t stop. I’m a ruin, wrecked by the knowledge that he carried this weight alone, unloved, unwanted, destroyed by the very people who should have protected him.

He thinks this letter is a goodbye.

But to me—it’s a scream.

It’s proof that the most beautiful heart I’ve ever known was treated like nothing.

And I can’t fathom it. I can’t bear it.

I collapse completely, limp against the floorboards, the taste of salt and blood in my mouth. My sobs taper into whimpers, a pitiful, broken thing. And in the hollow ache of my chest, one truth lodges deep: if the world could not love Lincoln Walker… then I will love Titan Ward enough for both of us.

I’m still tremblingon the floor when the door creaks open. I don’t hear his footsteps at first—Titan moves like a shadow, a ghost echoing in the silence. But then he’s there.

“Lily.”

My name leaves his mouth like a soft prayer, jagged and low. I flinch, curling tighter around the letter, because I don’t want him to see me like this—hysterical, shattered. But it’s too late.

He sees everything. Hefeelseverything.

His boots stop just shy of my body. I can feel the heat of himabove me, the weight of his stare like a brand. My sobs hitch into silence, broken only by ragged breathing.

Then he lowers himself—slow, hesitant, like he’s approaching a wounded animal. His knee hits the floor with a dull thud, and his hand hovers before it dares touch me.

“Are you hurt?” His question is heavy enough to crush me.

I lift my face, salt-streaked and blotched red, hair sticking to wet skin. “How could they?” The words spill out, torn and frantic. “How could anyone not love you? You—you’re…” My voice breaks on the word. I slam the heel of my palm against my chest as if I can pound my heart free. “You’re everything, and theyhurtyou.”

Titan’s throat works, but he doesn’t answer. His jaw ticks, his scars pull tight, his eyes flicker with something close to panic. I realize he doesn’t know how to handle this—being mourned by someone who cares, who loves so deeply.

“They should’ve worshipped you,” I cry, gripping the letter so hard the edges of my nails bite into my palms. “They should’ve cherished every piece of you. And instead, they tried to burn you out of existence. How could they not see you? How could they not—” My breath saws out, wild and desperate. “How could they not love you?”

Something cracks in him then. I see it. The hard edges, the armor, the unyielding steel he’s wrapped himself in—it fractures. He doesn’t speak. He doesn’t know how. Instead, he gathers me up, arms locking around me with a force that feels more like a chokehold than an embrace.

I fight him at first, fists beating against his chest, not because I want to hurt him but because the grief is too big for my body. He takes it—every strike, every sob—as if he deserves the punishment.

And when I finally collapse against him, trembling and gasping, he buries his face in my hair. His chest is a wall, shakingagainst me, though he’ll never admit he’s crying. His breath is hot, uneven, a storm breaking loose.

“I just wanted you to know how I feel,” he mutters, voice shredded, almost angry. “I didn’t want you to carry my scars.”

“Too late,” I breathe against his throat, clutching him like letting go would tear me in half. “If you burn, I’ll burn beside you.”

His arms crush me closer, tight enough to hurt, tight enough to sear his strength into my bones. It’s brutal, suffocating, and still—I cling. Because in that silence, in that violent embrace, I feel the truth settle over us like smoke. He believes me.

And it terrifies him.

Because for the first time in his life, Lincoln Walker—Titan Ward—doesn’t exist as a shadow on the edge of the world, a phantom meant to be feared but never held. He isn’t a ghost drifting through the wreckage of his own violence, convincing himself no one could ever love a man carved from scars and silence.

For the first time… he’s tethered. Wanted. Claimed.

He’s mine. And no darkness, no blood, can take him from me.

76

JUSTIN

Ican’t compete with history.