Page 15

Elena

A week had passed since the crash. Seven days. It felt both impossibly long and painfully short.

The fire hadn’t worked.

I remembered how Troy had said it must have meant we were far from civilization, that if no one had seen it, we were in a place so isolated that even a raging inferno wouldn’t be enough to draw attention.

That knowledge settled like a rock in my stomach. It offered no comfort.

The days blurred together in cold, hunger, and quiet haze. We barely spoke, rationing what little food we had. I had given them the small stash from my bag earlier in the week, but it was already gone. We were down to scraps now, barely enough to sustain us, and water was becoming an issue, too.

Adrian had mentioned melting snow and boiling it if we needed to. That would buy us some time, but time was precisely what I was afraid of.

I was beginning to wonder if we even had any left.

Each night, sleep came slower, and when it did, it was restless, filled with fragmented dreams that bled into waking nightmares. And still, the world outside remained quiet .

Nobody was coming for us.

That thought nestled deep in my bones, chilling me more than the winter ever could.

I woke in the middle of the night, shifting beneath the covers as a dull, throbbing pain burned in my ankle. The sharp sting sent a gasp to my lips before I could stop it, and I clenched my jaw, trying to stifle the sound.

But it was too late.

Troy stirred beside me, a low hum of awareness slipping from him as he turned his head toward me in the dimness of the wreckage. The only light came from the moon, streaming through a window, casting silver streaks across his face.

I exhaled slowly, trying not to move, but his voice was already cutting through the silence.

“You okay?” he murmured, his voice rough with sleep.

I winced. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

Troy shifted, propping himself up slightly on his elbow, his dark hair falling messily over his forehead. “You’re hurting.” It wasn’t a question.

I hesitated before whispering, “Yeah.”

His brows furrowed slightly, and something in his expression softened.

“I wish I could take your pain,” he murmured.

I blinked, surprised by the quiet sincerity in his voice. My chest tightened as I stared at him, unsure how to respond. For so long, he had been distant, cruel in his cold indifference toward me. And now?

Now, he was looking at me like I mattered. Like he cared.

Troy must have noticed my hesitation because he exhaled softly and added, “I mean it.”

I looked away, focusing on the jagged shadows stretching across the wreckage. “It’s just surprising to hear you say that. ”

“Yeah,” he admitted. “I guess it is.”

Silence settled between us, Adrian’s soft snores filling the space where words should have been. It was chilly, and I could see my breath painting the air faintly.

Troy’s voice broke the quiet. “What’s your favorite color?”

I turned back to him, startled by the sudden change in topic. I shivered. “What?”

He smirked slightly. “I asked what your favorite color is.”

I studied him momentarily, deciding I had nothing better to do, before answering softly, “Purple.”

He nodded like he was storing that piece of information away for later. “Mine’s blue.”

I frowned slightly. “Why do you want to know?”

His smirk faded into something more thoughtful. “It doesn’t feel right not to know.”

Something in my chest fluttered at his words. I wasn’t sure what to do with this version of Troy—the one who asked about me, who wanted to know me.

Still, I answered his next question easily, the conversation flowing despite my initial hesitation.

“What do you want to do after college?” he asked, his voice quieter now.

I hesitated before replying, “It’s dumb.”

Troy tilted his head. “Try me.”

I swallowed and forced the words out. “I want to dance.”

His expression didn’t change; he didn’t mock or dismiss me like I had half-expected him to.

But I still laughed humorlessly, gesturing to my swollen ankle. “Not that it matters anymore.”

Troy’s jaw tightened. “Of course, it matters.”

I sighed. “Troy?—”

“You’ll succeed,” he interrupted his voice firm. “Because you’re strong. And I believe in you.”

My breath caught.

I wasn’t sure what stunned me more—the certainty in his voice or the way my heart swelled at his words .

Heat rose to my cheeks, and I turned my face away, only for Troy to chuckle softly.

“I like it when you’re bashful,” he murmured.

I didn’t know what to do with that.

I barely had time to process the warmth curling in my stomach before his fingers reached out, tracing along my jaw carefully, slowly. His gentle touch mapped the bruises and small cuts along my skin.

My pulse stuttered, and the air between us charged with something new. His green eyes drank me in, and I felt exposed under the weight of his gaze.

He brushed a piece of my loose hair, which had fallen from my braid behind my ear, his fingertips lingering against my temple before he finally spoke again.

“Will you make me a promise?”

My breath shuddered as I whispered, “What kind of promise?”

Troy shifted closer, his warmth seeping into my skin. His forehead lowered against mine, his breath mingling with mine in the cold air.

“Promise me that you’ll leave here,” he whispered. “Even if I don’t.”

A lump formed in my throat. “Troy?—”

“Promise me that you’ll become a famous ballerina,” he continued softly. “That you’ll dance. Even when things feel impossible.”

Tears burned at the corners of my eyes. He was asking me to believe in something. And against all odds, I did.

I swallowed hard and whispered, “I promise.”

Something in his expression eased. “Good.”

He pulled back just enough to look at me, his thumb brushing lightly over my cheek.

“Little dancer,” he murmured. “That’s what you are. My little dancer.”

The nickname and sentiment sent a fresh wave of warmth through me. Before I could even begin to unravel what any of this meant, Troy’s expression shifted, something almost regretful slipping into his gaze.

“I’ve always cared,” he admitted quietly. “I just… I was an ass. And I’m sorry for that.”

The sincerity in his voice hit me. Troy had never apologized for anything in his life. The move was surprising and caught me off guard. Everything he was saying to me was so out of the norm that I suddenly thought that maybe I was in a dream and none of what was happening was real.

He let out a slow breath. “I want to make it right somehow. Will you let me, little dancer?”

I hesitated, my fingers twitching slightly before I reached up, cradling his cheek. The move took every ounce of bravery I had. The rough stubble on his face tickled my palm.

We stared at each other, the moonlight washing over us, exposing every unspoken word, every lingering wound.

Then, finally, I whispered, “Yes.”

His lashes fluttered at my words, his lips parting slightly before a sad smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

He looked as vulnerable as I felt.

I closed my eyes, exhaustion tugging at my limbs, and felt his fingers intertwine with mine beneath the blankets.

He held my hand, grounding me, and I let the steady rhythm of his breathing lull me back to sleep. There were so many unspoken things hanging in the air between us.

And for the first time in a long time, I didn’t entirely hate the feeling.