Page 29

Briar

It’s been a week since I killed a man. One week and I can still hear them. I can still smell them. I can still feel them. Damiano. Flint.

Damiano’s words echo in my head, your way of erasing the memory of fucking me , and Flint’s, why do you always act like you own the people you fuck? It’s like they’re still circling each other, still circling me, not pulling any punches.

When I do sleep, the nightmares find me. I am back at the cemetery, screaming an apology nobody hears. I am at the funeral, listening to Viktor’s eulogy for the man I killed. I wake drenched in sweat, the sheets tangled around me.

The days slip by in a blur of deflection and self-loathing. I haven’t seen either one of them, and it’s better that way.

But I also know he’s been watching me. Every day. Every night. I see him in the maze watching .

Stalking.

Damiano keeps his distance, but I know he’s here.

Four days pass with no word from either. Every few hours I convince myself I don’t care. But I do.

Getting out of bed, knowing sleep is impossible, I see Damiano’s form at my window once again, watching. It’s early, the light barely gracing the horizon. At first, I assume it’s a trick of the dawn, but then he moves, unmistakably him, and my heart slams as memories of that night rush back.

I press my head against the cool glass, watching him as he watches me, a silent tension stretching between the house and the maze. Something inside me unravels, and it feels like bravery or recklessness, like the urge to jump and see if someone is there to catch me.

I can’t stay in my room anymore. I can’t keep hiding from him, from Flint, from myself.

I know I said we needed to cool off, but I’m fucking freezing now.

I’m out the door and down the stairs before I realize I’m moving. It’s only when my boots sink into the wet ground, when the wind catches in my hair, that I feel the truth of it. I need to see him. To talk about the thing between us, burning silently, threatening to explode.

The morning mist clings to my skin as I make my way across the grounds. Each step feels like a decision I can’t take back. Like crossing some invisible line that’s been drawn between us since that night in the maze.

He’s waiting by the edge of the maze, hands shoved deep in his pockets, shoulders tense as I approach. At first, he doesn’t say anything, simply lets his eyes linger on mine, and it feels like standing too close to a fire, dangerous and strangely comforting.

“Hey,” I manage to say, breathless from the cold or maybe from him.

“Briar.” It’s almost a sigh, like he’s been holding onto my name for days and can finally release it. “Been wondering if you’d ever come out.”

“Yeah, well…” I look away, unsure of how to start. “I can’t keep hiding forever.”

He nods, like he understands more than I expect him to.

“Walk with me?” he asks.

I follow him through the gardens, the ground squelching under our feet, a mist of rain starting to sink into my coat. There’s a strange solace in the silence, a calm before whatever storm is waiting to hit us next.

“The plants I used... they’re working faster than I expected. Another week, and there’ll be nothing to find.”

I try not to think about what that means—Liam’s body decomposing beneath the soil, eaten away by whatever Damiano planted. The image makes my stomach churn .

“Have you seen Flint?” The question escapes before I can stop it.

Damiano’s jaw tightens. “No.”

“Is he okay?”

“Why wouldn’t he be?” The sharpness in his tone cuts through the mist between us.

“After what happened... after what I?—”

“After you fucked him on top of Liam’s grave?” His words are harsh, but his expression isn’t. There’s hurt there, yes, but something else, too—something that looks strangely like understanding.

I flinch but hold my ground. “Yes. After that.” I draw a deep breath. “I have to say something.”

He keeps his pace beside me. “About what?”

“About Flint.” I bite my lip, forcing the words. “About us.”

He glances at me, and that hurt is in his eyes again, so raw it makes me ache. “Seeing you with him…”

“I don’t regret either of you.”

Damiano stops, catching me off guard. “What does that mean?”

“It means I’m not going to apologize for wanting you both. For needing you.” The words tumble out, unsteady but real. “You make me feel safe, like I’m not completely fucked. Like maybe we’ll survive this. Flint makes me—he makes me feel alive.”

“Alive,” he repeats, like it’s a foreign word, a concept he hasn’t touched in years .

I search his face, desperate to know if any of this makes sense to him.

“But I also know it’s not fair to expect you to be fine with?—”

He kisses me, and this kiss is nothing like before.

It’s slow, searching, like he’s trying to find himself in the wreckage of the night at the cemetery.

He cradles my face in his hands, and the tenderness in his touch makes everything else feel far away.

My heart pounds as I press closer, afraid to break the fragile, perfect moment.

When he pulls back, there’s a vulnerability in his gaze that wasn’t there before. I can tell he’s fighting against the pain, the uncertainty of what happens next. “You’re worth it,” he says, barely more than a whisper.

Relief floods through me, and I kiss him again, softer this time, feeling the warmth of his breath, the cold raindrops mingling with the heat between us.

It’s like finding a heartbeat in the chaos, something steady to hold onto when everything else spins out of control.

“Briar,” he murmurs against my lips. “The two of us seem right. But… The three of us are so fucked up.”

I draw back and nod, still catching my breath. “I know. I’m sorry.”

“He and I…”

I nod, also understanding.

“Fucked up or not, there is no two in our three. ”

Silence. Long torturous silence as we both process my words.

He runs a hand through his hair, but there’s a small, almost hopeful smile on his face. “I haven’t seen you in days. I thought maybe… I thought after… you wouldn’t want anything to do with me.”

“I couldn’t get you out of my head,” I confess. “Not you. Not Flint. You… you both said some things.”

His expression darkens. “Flint,” he mutters, a shadow passing over his face. “I don’t know if that will ever be… I mean, Briar—it’s always been toxic with him and me. It’s like the more we try to get out, the deeper we go.”

The rain falls harder now, soaking through my sweater, but I don’t care. “I’m not trying to change what you have. I just need to know it doesn’t destroy us.”

His silence is long, and I feel the weight of it.

“I want you,” he says, and he finds my mouth with his again, like he’s trying to swallow everything else.

He wraps his arms around me, pulling me in tighter, as if he can’t stand the space between us, not knowing when one of us might run or break or leave.

I kiss him back, feeling the urgency in the way he holds me, the urgency in me.

It’s like I can’t get close enough, like no matter how hard I try, there is always too much distance .

“Come with me,” he breathes against my lips.

“Where?” The word is barely out of my mouth before I realize I don’t care. I’d follow him anywhere.