Page 165 of The Colour of Revenge

Her words come in a rapid-fire stream, giving me no chance to answer, and Nate leans closer, his voice low. “Does she ever stop to breathe?”

“No,” I mutter, smiling despite the knot tightening in my chest. Seeing Tess is both wonderful and overwhelming. It’s a glimpse of the girl I used to be, of the life I left behind, and it’s stirring up feelings I haven’t allowed myself to process in years.

Tess continues, oblivious to my inner turmoil. “We’re going to catch up properly, okay? You don’t get to disappear on me again. I’ll literally stalk you if I have to. I’m joking, obviously. Unless you don’t text me back. Then I’m not joking. Here, give me your number!”

I glance at Nate, who’s watching with quiet amusement, then back at Tess, who’s holding her phone out expectantly. I can’t help but laugh again as I take it from her. “You haven’t changed a bit.”

She grins. “And you’ve changed so much! But also, not at all. It’s weird. I love it.”

As I hand her phone back, I feel a pang of guilt. Tess is so full of life, so genuine, and I know I’ll have to keep so much of mine hidden. But for now, I let myself enjoy the moment, pushing aside the weight of my secrets.

“Alright,” I say, forcing a smile. “Let’s catch up. But don’t expect any wild stories.”

Tess beams. “Oh, I’m expecting all the stories. And Nate, you’re invited too. Obviously. I mean, you own Haven. This is so cool!”

Nate chuckles, glancing at me. “Your friend’s… enthusiastic.”

“She’s always been like this,” I say, my voice softening as the memories of simpler times wash over me.

Tess claps her hands together. “Perfect! This is going to be so much fun. I’ve missed you, Naomi—I mean, Carina. God, it’s so good to see you.”

Going to the support session, seeing my old friend—I feel a tiny flicker of the girl I used to be.

46

Trauma Whisperer

Hypothetical Question: If you had to spend an entire week in a room with only three things, what would they be?

Two months later…

Carina

"Thankyou,"Nataliasays,her voice bright with something fragile but hopeful as she heads toward the door.

The other women murmur their thanks—quieter, more subdued, but no less heartfelt—as they shuffle out after her.

I watch them go, exhaling slowly. The room settles into silence, save for the faint ticking of the clock on the wall. The scent of lavender lingers in the air, clinging to the chairs' fabric, to my skin.

I should get up and start cleaning, but instead, I sink into one of the empty chairs, letting the weight of the session settle over me.

It's always like this: a strange mix of satisfaction and exhaustion, of fulfilment and something more complicated—like I'm stitching pieces of myself back together but never quite finishing the job.

I trace a finger over the paintings we created today. Art therapy has been a huge success with the women here. I wasn’t sure about it to start with, I hadn’t held a paintbrush in years. But as soon as I did, the cathartic release was almost euphoric. And the other women love it too. It gives them a moment of peace, a time to switch off their brain from whatever worries they might have.

I started working for Nate not long after I visited the support group for the first time, where it showed me that there’s more to my life than just vengeance. Of course, I don’t share all the ways I healed myself to the women. I leave out the blood and violence, instead focusing on the rest of my journey. In particular, I spend a lot of time talking about support systems. Nate, obviously, is my greatest supporter. But Kai and Enzo? They help heal me too.

Footsteps sound. Then a soft knock on the open door.

“Hey,” Nate’s voice cuts through the silence, soft and warm. I look up to see him leaning against the doorway, his arms crossed over his chest, a proud smile playing on his lips.

"How long have you been standing there?" I ask, shaking off the remnants of my thoughts.

"Long enough to see you work your wizardry." He steps into the room, the warmth in his voice wrapping around me. "Seriously, you're like a trauma whisperer. They adore you."

I snort, shaking my head as I gather the loose papers from the table. "They don't need to adore me. They just need to believe that there's a way forward."

Nate doesn't answer right away. Instead, he watches me, his gaze lingering too long like he's searching for something I'm not ready to give him.