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Dawn creeps through the window, painting the empty apartment in shades of promise. Cardboard boxes stand like sentries by the door, each labeled in Blaze’s precise military scrawl. The space echoes differently now—hollow and empty.

My phone buzzes. It’s the first phone I’ve ever owned. Blaze got it for me first thing after everything that happened. Said he wanted a way to reach me, no matter where I might be. I think he uses it to track me, but I don’t care. I love his protectiveness.

As for my phone, it’s Aria again. She loves to text. It’s nonstop.

I kind of love that too. I’ve never had a friend before.

“The LLC is set up.” Her voice carries barely contained excitement. “First shipment of supplies arrives at the new workshop next week. Real supplies. Not the dollar store stuff.”

“That’s…” Words fail as emotion clogs my throat.

“I know.” Understanding fills the pause. “By the way, my interior designer is handling the workshop layout. Don’t argue. Consider it payment for services rendered.”

“Services rendered?” A laugh bubbles up, half hysteria. “You mean getting kidnapped together?”

“I mean saving my life, you idiot.” Fondness softens her tone. “Though the shared trauma certainly accelerated our friendship timeline.”

Blaze appears behind me, his presence solid and warm. His hand settles on my hip, grounding me in the moment.

“Aria…” My voice catches. “Thank you.”

“Partners, remember? Your new life awaits.” The call ends with a click.

Sunlight streams stronger now, catching dust motes in the empty space where my candles once stood. The apartment feels smaller somehow, yet infinitely larger with possibility.

As I stand there, watching Blaze move the boxes out, I feel something deep within me begin to ache. It’s a strange ache—a mix of sadness and joy, loss and hope. This apartment has been more than just a place to sleep. It’s been my shield, my fortress, my haven. It’s where I learned to stand on my own two feet, where I picked up the shattered pieces of myself and found a way to keep moving.

“Having second thoughts?” Blaze’s breath stirs my hair.

I look around and take in the bare walls and scuffed floor. The memories seem to drift out from the shadows—all those nights alone, sitting by the window, clutching a candle as I watched the flame flicker and imagined something better.

All those times, I thought I’d never get out of here, that the four walls would be my only company until they crumbled just like me. I fought my battles here; though this place isn’t much, it was mine. Mine in a way nothing else ever was.

Now, I’m leaving it behind and walking away from the girl who fought alone, who learned how to carve out just enough to survive. I’m not that girl anymore. I’m something more. That’s what I’m struggling to let go of—the safety of being alone, of not needing anyone. Because now, with Blaze standing there, waiting for me to follow, I need him. I want him. And it’s terrifying.

I remember Blaze asked a question.

“No second thoughts.” The answer surprises me with its certainty. “Just… Saying goodbye.”

His arms wrap around my waist, careful of healing wounds. “Tell me.”

“This place…” The words come slowly. “It wasn’t much, but it was mine. First thing that was ever really mine.”

“And now?”

“Now I have more.” My fingers lace with his. “So much more.”

I take in the empty space. Morning light catches the key in my palm—his key, our future.

“You know what I want to do?” My heart races with sudden certainty.

“Tell me.” His thumb traces patterns on my wrist.

“Make one last candle. Here. Now.” The idea takes root, growing stronger. “Something to mark the transition.”

“Using the supplies we packed already?”

“If you don’t mind.”

Understanding dawns in his eyes.

“For you, I’ll do anything.”

He helps unpack the supplies—the last jar, the final bits of wax, a blend of oils I love.

“What scents?” His voice drops as he watches me work.

“Lavender for peace.” The oil shimmers as it drops into melting wax. “Sage for new beginnings. And…” My hands shake slightly. “Rose for love.”

The word hangs between us, delicate as candle smoke. His breath catches.

“Love?” Rough emotion colors his voice.

“Love.” Stronger now, more certain. “Is that okay?”

His answer is a kiss—gentle but fierce, tender but claiming. When he pulls back, his eyes shine with something that makes my heart stutter.

“More than okay.” His forehead rests against mine. “Pour it. Let’s make something beautiful.”

The wax flows smoothly and surely, carrying our hopes, our fears, and our future. As it cools, the scents blend—peace, beginnings, and love twining together into something uniquely ours.

“Perfect.” His finger traces the jar’s rim. “Just like you.”

“Not perfect.” My voice catches. “But maybe—maybe it’s whole.”

A knock at the door—Jenny, right on schedule.

Time to go.

“Ready?” Blaze’s hand extends, steady and sure.

My fingers trace the doorframe, feeling the rough wood beneath my skin. It’s time. I take a deep breath, blinking back the tears that well up.

Blaze catches my eye, his expression softening when he sees the emotion in my eyes. He doesn’t rush me. He doesn’t push. He just waits, his presence a steady, reassuring warmth that wraps around me like a promise.

“It’s hard, isn’t it?” he says, his voice gentle. He knows. He always knows.

I nod, my throat too tight to speak. I take one last look around, and it feels like I’m saying goodbye to a part of myself. The part that was alone, the part that fought tooth and nail to survive, the part that never dared to dream beyond these walls.

“You’re not losing anything,” Blaze says, stepping closer. He cups my cheek. “You’re gaining something more, and you have someone to share it with. Someone who’s not going anywhere.”

I lean into his touch, closing my eyes momentarily, letting his words sink in. He’s right. I’m not losing who I was—I’m just adding to it. I’m stepping into something new, something that’s terrifying but also beautiful.

And I’m not doing it alone.

The candle’s surface shimmers in the morning light, already beginning to set. Like us—transforming into something new, something stronger. My fingers find his, squeezing gently.

“I’m ready,” I whisper, the words trembling but true.

He lifts the first box, muscles flexing beneath his shirt. I cradle our candle, this final piece of my old life becoming the first piece of our new one.

At the door, I pause. Turn back. The empty apartment glows golden in the morning sun. So many memories—good and bad, painful and precious.

“Thank you,” I whisper to the space that sheltered and protected me. The space that helped me survive.

“Ready to go home?” Blaze’s free hand finds the small of my back. Blaze’s eyes shine with pride and something deeper, something that makes my heart swell. He takes my hand, and together, we step out of the apartment and into the light of a new day.

The boxes are loaded, and the last piece of my old life sits in my lap as I settle into the car. The candle. It’s still warm, the wax not yet fully set, and I hold it close, feeling its weight. This candle is everything—the past, the present, and the promise of a future. It’s my reminder that I’m capable of creating light, even in the darkest of places.

Blaze starts the car, his hand finding mine, fingers lacing together. “Ready to see your new home?”

Home.

It’s not a place.

Home is a person.

It’s the wonderful man beside me.

Blaze.

I step into tomorrow and a life filled with love. As we drive away, I look back one last time. The building stands tall—if not a bit crooked—bathed in morning light, a place that once held all my fears and hopes. I whisper my thanks and goodbye, then turn forward and face my future.

I smile, tears slipping free, but they’re not tears of sadness. They’re tears of hope, of joy, of something I never thought I’d have—a life worth looking forward to.