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DEREK

I used to think silence was peace.

That if I could just drown out the noise—the grief, the guilt, the ache—I could rebuild something in its place. Discipline. Distance. Control.

But silence isn’t peace.

Silence is a cage.

And lately, every time Hazel laughs, every time she stomps into a room with glitter in her hair and a firestorm in her eyes, another bar bends.

I don’t know when it started.

Maybe when she looked me in the face with tears she wouldn’t name and told me she was scared.

Or when she threw a sigil at a raccoon cult and shouted "solidarity or chaos!" like she was rallying a revolution.

Maybe it was always there, waiting—just like the thing I buried.

Him.

I walk to the edge of the training field, the one past the northern boundary where no campers go. Where the magic feels older. Thinner. Like the past lives just under the surface.

The wind picks up, threading cold through my coat.

I sit on the moss-covered bench we built after he died.

Rowen.

My brother.

The one I turned too late.

He was seventeen. Bright. Reckless. So full of hope he used to carry it in his pockets, dropping bits of it everywhere he went. He believed in love, in redemption, in me .

And I failed him.

I didn’t make it in time. The vampire who took him was fast, cruel, deliberate. I drained what was left of that thing’s body until it turned to ash—and when I finally bit Rowen to try and save what I could… it wasn’t enough.

He came back—but wrong.

Too hungry. Too empty.

I held him until the hunger took over. And when I realized he couldn’t stop—when I saw what was happening in his eyes—I made a choice.

I ended it.

I drove a silvered blade through the chest of the only person who ever loved me without condition.

And I’ve hated myself for it every day since.

I ran after that. From the coven. From the world. From anything that looked like affection.

Because love kills.

Love costs .

And I swore I’d never feel that again.

Until her.

Hazel Blackmoore, chaos witch extraordinaire, with her half-broken magic and her snack hoarding and her dumb jokes and the way she makes space for everyone—even when she’s falling apart.

She talks too much. Laughs too loud. Wears her heart like armor and her fear like perfume.

And gods help me, I can’t stop wanting her.

It’s not just desire. I’ve known desire. It burns fast. Dies faster.

This is different.

This feels like remembering .

Like breath after too long underwater.

Like life.

I hear her before I see her. Somewhere in the woods behind me, cursing under her breath as twigs snap and her boots crunch against the leaves.

I don’t move.

“Derek?” she calls.

Still don’t move.

She appears a moment later, flushed, hair wind-wild, journal clutched in one hand and what might be a half-eaten granola bar in the other.

“There you are,” she says, breathless. “I’ve been yelling your name like I’m summoning a cranky forest demon.”

“Did it work?” I ask without looking.

She flops onto the bench beside me. “You’re the crankiest forest demon I know. Take it as a compliment.”

We sit in silence.

I feel her glance at me, but she doesn’t speak.

Which is unusual for her. And somehow worse.

“Rowen,” I say finally.

Her head turns sharply.

“My brother. His name was Rowen.”

She says nothing. Just… waits.

“I turned him to save him,” I say. “I was too late. He died anyway. Just slower. More painfully.”

She doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t rush in with pity or soft words.

She just lets the silence hold the shape of him.

“I killed him,” I say, voice low. “Because I had to. Because if I didn’t, he would’ve become something worse.”

Hazel reaches out.

She sets her hand on mine.

And suddenly I’m not alone on that bench anymore.

I exhale shakily. “I never let myself feel anything after that. Not really.”

“Yeah,” she says. “That sounds like a you thing.”

I huff out a breath. Almost a laugh.

She squeezes my hand once, then lets go. Doesn’t make it a moment.

Just lets it be .

“I saw you with Rowan,” I murmur.

She groans. “Oh my gods, don’t. That date was a disaster. Did you know he served me actual flowers? Like, raw? No sauce. Just petals and awkward eye contact.”

I finally look at her.

She’s already looking at me.

“Why’d you go?” I ask.

“I panicked,” she says simply. “You got under my skin and I didn’t like it. Rowan was… safe. Dull. Predictable. The opposite of you.”

I nod. “So, a better choice.”

“No,” she says, and it’s immediate. Fierce. “Just an easier one.”

Our eyes lock.

And everything unsaid swells between us like a tide.

I don’t touch her.

But I don’t move away either.

And in that moment, I know the truth like I know my own damn name.

I’m falling.

And for once in my cursed, blood-soaked, battle-scarred existence, I don’t want to stop.