Chapter 51 #2
He stared at me, and his breathing hitched as if that answer hurt.
Finally, he whispered, barely audible, “Roof?”
My heart stopped. A memory flashed so hard it made me dizzy.
A foster house. A squeaky back door. Nate holding his finger to his lips, eyes shining with a plan.
The two of us climbing up onto shingles that felt too steep, lying flat with our backs on the roofline, staring up at a sky packed with stars.
We used to do it when we couldn’t sleep. When the house felt too tight, and we needed to believe there was something bigger than the people who didn’t want us.
We had a code word for it.
One word meant: Meet me. Come with me. We’re still us. We can breathe up there.
“Roof.” I nodded, tears spilling. “Yeah.”
Nate frowned like he was trying to remember the rest.
I leaned in, voice trembling. “What was the word?”
His brows pulled together. He looked lost for a second, then his mouth moved, shaping sound with effort.
“Starlight,” he rasped.
I broke. I laughed and sobbed at the same time, my whole body shaking. “Starlight.” My breath hitched. “Oh my God, Nate. Yes. Starlight.”
More tears came.
I kissed his forehead again. “You remember. You remember us.”
His gaze drifted away for a second, like something inside him had snagged. His breathing changed, becoming shallow and uneven.
“Nate?”
“They… they—” His voice caught.
I leaned closer. “Hey. You don’t have to. Not yet.”
His expression was wild. “I thought you were … them.”
“I know. You’re safe.”
His hand clutched mine tighter, panic tightening his grip despite weakness. “Don’t … leave.”
“I won’t,” I said immediately. “I won’t, little brother. I’m not going anywhere.”
He stared at me as if he needed to memorize my face to keep it from being taken away again. “I tried.”
“I know you did,” I said. “I know.”
Nate swallowed again, and his focus drifted to the ceiling. His voice dropped lower, like he was speaking from the bottom of a well.
“Cold room,” he murmured.
My stomach turned.
“Nate,” I said softly.
He blinked, slow. “Lights … always on.”
I felt the blood drain from my cheeks.
He took a shaky breath. “They … chained me.”
My hand trembled around his. “Okay. You’re here. You’re safe.”
For a second, he looked older than he should.
“Wall,” he said. “My wrists … burned.”
I swallowed hard, tasting bile. “Nate, stop. You don’t—”
“I couldn’t … reach.” His words came faster, slipping out of him like something he’d held too long. “Food … right there. Right there. I could smell it.”
A sob rose and I fought it down because I couldn’t make him carry my grief while he was barely awake.
“They left it.” His voice cracked. “Just out. Just … out of reach.”
I pressed my forehead to his knuckles again, shaking. “I’m so sorry.”
He blinked hard, as if trying to push away the images. “Needles.”
The word landed like a punch.
“Tests.” He struggled for a moment. “They… wrote things down. Talked … about me. Not to me.”
My skin went cold.
“Guinea pig,” he rasped, and the phrase sounded old, familiar, used too many times. “Not … a person.”
I covered my mouth with my free hand, trying to keep myself from making any sound that would scare him.
He stared at me again. “Voices … said things. Over and over.”
“What things?” I immediately regretted asking.
Nate’s face tightened. His breath hitched. He shook his head, tiny and frantic. “No, no—”
“Okay,” I said instantly. “Okay. Stop. You’re okay. You don’t have to say it.”
His breathing sped up. Fear flooded his expression.
I leaned closer, voice low and firm. “Nate. Look at me. Look at me.”
He did.
“Starlight,” I said softly. “We’re on the roof. It’s cold and you stole a blanket and we’re looking at the stars, remember? You told me one day we’d have a real family. A family that wanted us. You promised me.”
His lips trembled.
I kept my voice steady even though my body was shaking. “You’re here. I’m here. Nobody is chaining you to anything. Nobody is taking you. I won’t let them.”
Nate’s gaze stayed on mine, and his breathing slowed, little by little. The exhaustion hit him like a wave, and his eyelids drooped. His grip loosened slightly.
“Nate.” My tone was desperate. “Stay with me.”
He tried. I could see it. I could see him fighting to stay awake, fighting to keep his eyes open, fighting not to slip back into whatever place had taught him that sleep meant danger.
“I’m … so tired,” he murmured.
“I know,” I said softly. “It’s okay. Sleep. I’m here.”
His eyelids fluttered. He looked at me again, as if trying to make sure I wouldn’t vanish the moment he let go. “Slo,” he whispered.
“Yeah?” Tears slid down my cheeks. “Yeah, baby. I’m right here.”
His eyelids finally fell as his breathing evened out. The monitor beeped steady, and
I sat there with his hand in mine and my heart in pieces.
Nate had woken up. He’d said my name. He’d even said our code word. Nate had also given me a glimpse of what they’d done to him before his body shut down again, before his mind slammed a door between him and the memories.
I stared at him in the hospital light and felt something shift inside me. It wasn’t relief.
Not yet. But a flicker of certainty. Sick motherfuckers had taken my brother and tried to turn him into something else.
They had taken Ryker as payment and erased him from my world.
And I was sitting here, holding Nate’s hand, realizing the same thing I’d realized three days ago and had tried not to name.
This wasn’t over.
Not for Nate.
Not for me.
And not for the man who had walked into the dark and left nothing behind but the echo of three words I hadn’t said back in time.
I pressed my lips to Nate’s knuckles and quietly said, “Starlight.”
I looked at the door, at the hallway beyond it, at the world that kept moving even when mine had stopped.
And I waited, terrified of what would come next.