Chapter 28 – Lilith
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
LILITH
I shove the last of my clothes into the bag, forcing the zipper closed with more effort than necessary.
For a second, I stand there, listening, like the room might say something.
Like it might ask me to stay. It doesn’t.
Slowly, I turn, letting my gaze drift over everything: every corner, every surface, every quiet piece of a life I built here.
Making sure I haven’t forgotten anything.
Or maybe making sure I have. It’s been a week since Silas woke up; a week since everything fell apart.
Since it burned, broke, and reshaped into something I’m still not sure I understand.
Lucian gave the club time. Seven days to breathe, to recover, to bury what needed burying.
But a week isn’t enough. Not for what we went through.
Not for what we lost. Still, the world doesn’t stop.
It never does. The club moves on. It has to.
Shipments, deals, and runs that stretch for days.
Life continues whether you’re ready for it or not.
My fingers brush against the edge of the dresser, pausing when I spot the photo.
I pick it up before I can stop myself: me and my family.
That stupid RV trip we thought would be fun.
My sister had been sick most of the way, complaining, whining, swearing she’d never travel again.
We’d argued, laughed, and nearly killed each other in that cramped space.
It had been chaos. It had been perfect. A small, broken sound escapes me as I stare at it, at the version of me that still existed back then.
I swallow hard and set it back down. There’s no room for it in my bag.
No space for pieces of a life that doesn’t exist anymore.
I don’t need it anyway. The memories are carved into me so deeply that they will last a lifetime.
Turning away feels harder than it should, but I do it anyway.
I leave the room without looking back again.
Down the stairs, out the back door. The lock clicks into place behind me, loud in the quiet nighttime air.
I walk around to the front, my steps slower now, heavier.
And then I stop. I just… stop. Tilting my head back, I take in the bar.
The place that became my home. The place that changed everything.
The place that took everything. My chest tightens.
For a moment, I close my eyes, letting it all press in: the laughter, the fights, the nights that blurred into something unforgettable.
Him. Always him. A breath leaves me unsteady.
Then I force my eyes open. Force my body to turn.
To walk away. The keys sit heavy in my hand as I slide them into an envelope, sealing it shut with fingers that don’t feel entirely steady.
I don’t hesitate when I push it through the real estate agent’s letterbox. Just like that, it’s done.
I adjust the straps of my backpack, pulling them tighter against my shoulders, grounding myself in its weight. Everything I need. Everything I’m taking with me.
For a moment, I linger at the edge of the street, staring out at the town that held my entire life. Every version of me exists here. Every mistake. Every memory, every piece I can’t take with me. My jaw tightens. Then, before I can second-guess it, I turn. And I walk. Not looking back again.