Page 109 of Scarred in Silence

“I know every version of you, Astra. Even the one you try to bury.”

I swallow hard, blinking up at the ceiling. “You think I’m broken.”

“I think you’re bleeding in a house full of demons and still haven’t let them devour you. That’s not broken. That’s fucking brave.”

My chest aches.

“What if I don’t want to be brave anymore?”

“Then be whatever you need to be. Angry. Numb. Shattered. Just don’t disappear again.”

Tears sting the back of my throat. I hate how easily she finds the truth inside me. How she sees the pieces I hide.

“I miss you,” I whisper.

“I never left,” she replies. “You just stopped calling.”

I nod even though she can’t see me.

“I’m scared, Evelyn,” I admit. “Of him. Of myself. Of what comes next.”

“You don’t have to figure it all out today. Just breathe. And if it ever gets too heavy—if he ever crosses a line—call me.”

“What will you do?” I ask, a sad smile tugging at my lips.

“I’ll burn the whole place down,” she says without hesitation. “And I won’t need Lucien’s permission.”

A weight lifts off my chest—not completely, but enough to breathe.

“I don’t deserve you,” I murmur.

“Too late,” she says. “You’ve got me anyway.”

We don’t say goodbye. We just sit in the silence, breathing on opposite ends of the line. Two sisters—scarred, angry, stitched together with grief—but still holding on.

And for the first time in days, I don’t feel like the gun on my chest is the only way out.

40

Lucien

The engine hums like a threat beneath me. The Colorado sun’s just beginning to slide behind the mountains, casting long shadows across the asphalt. I don’t turn the radio on. Silence suits me better today—quiet enough to think, loud enough to feel her absence.

Astra didn’t say goodbye.

She was still curled up in my bed when I left, tangled in the sheets, holding the gun to her chest like a warning. I wanted her to fight with me—to look at me with that fury again, the fire that says she hasn’t given up yet. But she didn’t. And for once, I didn’t force her.

I let her think in peace.

Even though I knew she wouldn’t stay that way forever.

Her silence this morning… it wasn’t fear. It wasn’t a submission. It was distance.

A line I didn’t draw.

I tighten my grip on the steering wheel as the compound comes into view on the horizon—gray concrete against roaring trees, our own little hellhole. The closer I get, the more this weight settles into my chest. Not guilt. Anticipation.

If I don’t secure Astra’s place, I’ll lose her. She needs to see that she belongs here, because there’s nowhere else left for her to go. No one else who will keep her safe, even if I have to burn the world to do it.