Page 100 of Mystic's Sunrise

Still silence.

I pressed my palm flat to the wood, feeling the cool surface beneath my skin, grounding myself. “I know I fucked up,” I said, trying to keep my voice calm. “I should’ve told you. Should’ve handled it before you ever had to find out.”

I paused, searching for the words. My throat felt tight, like they were lodged halfway up and refused to move.

“I didn’t,” I admitted, my voice cracking. “That’s on me.”

No sound came from inside. Not even a whisper of breath, not the creak of the floorboards shifting beneath her. But I knew she was there. I could feel her on the other side of that door like a ghost I couldn’t reach.

I rested my forehead against the wood, eyes closing for a beat. “I ended it,” I whispered. “She’s gone. I swear it.”

Silence. Thick and final.

The ache in my chest twisted deeper. I clenched my hand into a fist, pressing it to the frame.

She wasn’t letting me in.

And I didn’t blame her. God, I didn’t blame her for any of it. But that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt like hell.

I stepped back, every part of me resisting the distance.

“Alright,” I murmured, voice almost too quiet to hear. “I’ll give you space.”

I turned, glancing back at the door one last time, hoping—stupidly, maybe—that she’d open it. That something would shift. But it stayed shut. She was still here. But in every way that mattered… she might as well have been a thousand miles away.

How would I fucking survive this?

CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO

THE MUSIC FROMthe bar drifted through the walls,muffled and distant, like it was coming from another world entirely. It wasn’t just noise; it was a reminder. A cruel, pulsing throb of laughter and rhythm that didn’t belong in this room anymore. Not with me. It was too alive. Too loud. Too normal.

I sat on the edge of the bed, knees drawn up tightly to my chest, arms wrapped around them, hands buried deep in the sleeves of the sweatshirt still clinging to the shape of him. Mystic’s sweatshirt.

It somehow still smelled like him—faint but unmistakable. A mixture of soap and worn leather, grounded by that hint ofcologne I’d breathed in deep when he held me close enough for the world to disappear. I pulled it tighter around me and leaned back against the wall, letting the cool plaster anchor me. My eyes drifted shut, and I focused on breathing.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

Keep the rhythm. Keep control. Don’t cry.

I had cried enough already.

I could still hear her speak his name—Kain—like it was a weapon. Not Mystic. Not the man I thought I knew. Not the man who let me into his silence, into his scars. But Kain, a stranger hiding behind the pieces he let me see.

And it hadn’t beenhimwho told me. It had beenher.

His wife.

Not his ex-wife. Not his past. His secret.

The truth had come from her lips, not his, and every word she spoke had twisted into something sharp, something cruel—because he hadn’t told me himself.

I thought I was safe with him.