Page 118 of Scarred in Silence

43

Lucien

The road hums beneath the tires like a lullaby I don’t deserve.

I grip the wheel tighter, knuckles bone-white, jaw locked so tight it feels like my teeth might shatter. The moonlight spills across the hood of the car, slicing the desert in half, and still, I can’t breathe right.

She’s sitting beside me.

Silent.

Watching me the way you watch a bomb tick down.

She doesn’t know that’s what I am. Not really.

I don’t speak. I can’t.

Because if I open my mouth, I won’t be able to stop.

Damien’s face won’t leave me.

That smug fucking smile. That effortless cool. The way he walks through life like he owns it. Like, I was just born to orbit around his shine.

I killed him. I did. I fucking ended him.

And yet… he stood ten feet from me in the lobby of Club Muse like a ghost I forgot to bury deep enough.

The silence between us stretches so long I almost convince myselfI’ve imagined everything. But then Astra speaks.

“You okay?”

I laugh. It slips out without warning—sharp, bitter, and hollow.

“Define okay.”

She doesn’t answer. Smart girl.

I press harder on the gas, watch the desert fly past in streaks of darkness. My throat is dry. My palms are slick. There’s blood in my mouth, but I haven’t been hit. Not tonight.

It’s old blood. Brother blood. The kind that never really washes off.

“I should’ve made sure he was dead,” I say. Quiet. Like I’m confessing something holy.

Astra looks at me, but I keep my eyes on the road.

“I shot him. Twice. Watched him fall. Watched the light leave his eyes.”

I pause.

“Or thought I did.”

She’s quiet. I feel her watching me, and it makes something tighten in my chest. Something ugly. Something alive.

“I did everything right. Everything was the way I was taught. You shoot. You confirm. You walk away.”

I finally glance at her. “But I didn’t drag his corpse to the fire. I didn’t make sure.”

I slam the steering wheel once with my palm, the sound like a gunshot in the confined space.