Page 144 of Scarred in Silence

Lucien stands behind me, silent.

I can feel his tension, like a flame between my shoulder blades. I don’t have to see him to know his jaw is clenched, hands probably in fists at his sides, heart a riot behind his ribs.

“We need to move,” I say quietly. “We can’t wait.”

“We won’t.”

“She’s alone.”

“She’s not stupid.”

“That doesn’t mean she’s safe.”

His hand brushes mine—just once. I let it happen.

But I don’t look at him.

Because I’mstaring at Damien’s name as if I focus hard enough, the paper will catch fire.

“I thought he was dead.”

“He should be.”

I turn around. “Did you check?”

His eyes flick up, cold and unreadable. “They buried him.”

“Where?”

His silence tells me everything.

“You didn’t bury him?”

Lucien looks away. “I left him to bleed out.”

“And you just walked away?”

“I thought it was over.”

My mouth parts. My breath feels jagged.

“Do you regret it?”

He shakes his head. “No. But I regret not putting one in his skull.”

I press my palm to my stomach, grounding myself. Everything feels like it’s unraveling again. The peace I’ve been pretending to live inside—it was never real. Just a quiet before the next rupture.

A crash from the hallway startles us both.

Lucien’s gun is in his hand before I can speak.

We move fast. Through the door. Down the hall.

But it’s just a vase. Fallen off the ledge by the front window.

Shattered on the floor like some kind of omen.

I bend down to pick up a shard, the porcelain white and sharp in my hand. Lucien crouches beside me, gently pulling the piece from my fingers.