Chapter 32 Celeste
Celeste
Gravel crunches under my sneakers, loud in the morning hush, each little sound magnified until it feels like the world is listening.
Sunlight threads through the pines in thin, impatient shafts, dust motes floating like tiny, indifferent witnesses.
A bird calls from somewhere above the trees, and the rustle of branches in the breeze makes my stomach knot before I remind myself it’s just wind. I’m safe. I’m not alone this time.
Lucian walks beside me, his stride even despite the prosthetic.
His presence is grounding, a solid anchor in the swirl of nerves tightening in my chest. He carries a walking stick he found; he offered it to me before we left, but I refused out of stubbornness.
But watching him use it makes the stick feel less like a concession and more like a tool.
He uses it the way he moves through everything: practical, precise, and quietly competent.
It steadies him, and by extension, steadies me.
The air tastes like pine sap and damp earth, clean and sharp enough to cut through the sourness that sits behind my ribs.
I used to love the feel of the trail underfoot, the hush of trees pressing in until the world narrowed to breath and step.
Now the trunks look taller and the shadows longer even in the morning.
I repeat my new mantra under my breath because saying it out loud makes it less like a wish and more like a plan.
Baby steps count.
Lucian glances at me, and just that one look is enough to ease the pressure in my chest a little. He doesn’t have to say anything. His being here says it all: I’m safe. I’m protected. If anyone tries again, they’ll regret ever breathing the same air as me.
My head is a carousel of what-ifs. What if the rustle behind me isn’t a squirrel?
What if the path bends and someone’s waiting in the hollow?
What if the sound I hear is a footfall and not an animal?
The questions stack up like stones. I reach for Lucian’s hand again because his grip is a fact I can hold on to.
His fingers are callused and warm; he doesn’t flinch when I squeeze.
“You okay?” His voice is quiet, like he’s talking to me and the fear in my head at the same time.
Am I? My chest says no, but my legs keep moving forward, and that has to mean something. “Yeah,” I murmur, more for myself than for him. “I just… it feels different now.”
He nods like he understands the whole sentence without me finishing it.
The trail bends, and my pulse spikes. When the path opens again, there’s nothing and no one there other than the trees and the pale thread of the trail.
I force a breath out and let the rhythm of walking do the rest: one step, then another, then another.
My heart drums like a warning and a promise at once.
I’m scared, yes, but I’m moving. Maybe that’s enough for today.
The woods begin to thin, the canopy lifting like a curtain. Ferns give way to scrub, the scent of pine diluted by sun-warmed gravel. Lucian glances at the line of trees ahead and says, “If I remembered Theo said that this path should lead to a parking right next to Bear and Brew.”
We come out of the trees, and the world opens: a gravel lot, a faded coffee-shop sign, the low hum of a town waking up. Light spills across the lot in broad, forgiving strokes. The trail did what it always did when I let it, it gave me space to be small and then, slowly, to be more.
I won’t let the memory of the attack steal this from me. Not the trails, not the trees, not the quiet mornings I used to love. I’ll take it back piece by piece, even if it kills me.
Lucian matches his pace to mine, like he has all the time in the world to wait for me to find my footing again.
The smell of coffee and breakfast treats drifts over from the shop and the lot hums with the small, ordinary life of people getting on with their day, I almost feel like myself. The almost is enough.
The bell over the café door chimes when we step inside, a bright little chime that feels almost too gentle after the exposure therapy I just put myself through.
Warm air rushes up to meet us, bringing the scent of coffee, toasted bread, and cinnamon, all stronger than it smelled from outside.
The scent wraps around me like a hug, and my shoulders drop before I even finish exhaling.
I scan for Selene and find her in a booth by the window, with her stylus moving in quick strokes across her tablet.
She’s hunched toward the screen like she’s conjuring something, and when she looks up, the concentration on her face turns to a warm look of excitement.
“Celeste.” She’s out of the booth and next to me before I can blink.
The second I step into her embrace, I melt; there is no other word for it.
Her hug is warmth and familiarity and the safety that comes from someone who’s known every version of you.
I didn’t realize how badly I needed this until her arms were around me.
We fall into an easy chatter that feels like slipping into an old sweater.
Selene eyes the flannel tied around my waist and smirks.
“Cute, that’s definitely not you style so I’m assuming you’re borrowing your bodyguards clothes? Should I expect wedding bells soon?”
I swat her shoulder, trying to look offended. “A woman is allowed to change her aesthetic. Yes, I wear matching sets, but today I wanted to wear—” I gesture vaguely at the flannel. “—this.”
Theo emerges from behind the counter, wiping his hands on a towel, his grin bright enough to warm the whole café. Before I can brace myself, he wraps me in a bear hug and spins as he lifts me clean off the ground.
“Good to see you both back in here,” Theo says as he gently sets me down. “What can I get you?”
Lucian steps forward, I can feel the tension humming off him, tight and territorial in the way his jaw ticks after watching Theo pick me up.
“Actually,” Lucian says, “I need to talk to you.”
Theo arches a brow. “Sure, shoot.”
“There was a friend of yours,” Lucian says, frowning slightly like he’s trying to remember specific details about her. “She works at the sheriff’s department? Shorter woman… black curly hair?”
“Oh—Mo?” Theo brightens. “Yeah, man. What about her?”
Lucian glances at me, just for a heartbeat, then back at Theo. His voice stays steady, but I feel the weight behind it like a hand pressed to my spine. “I was hoping to get her contact info. I think she could help me with something.”
Theo doesn’t pry; he just nods, already reaching for his phone. “Sure. She’s good people. I’ll text her, let her know you’ll reach out.” Theo sets his phone down and claps his hands together like he’s resetting the room’s energy. “Alright, now that business is handled, what can I get you two?”
Lucian steps up to the counter, his hand brushing mine in a grounding way, without thinking. “I’ll take whatever punches the hardest.”
Theo snorts. “So… rocket fuel. Got it.”
After I place my order, Selene hooks her arm through mine, tugging me toward her booth by the window before I can protest. “Come on,” she says, already sliding into the seat. “I need to hear everything. And I mean everything while we have a second alone.”
I laugh and fold into the seat opposite her. Sun pools across the wooden tables as the café hums low and warm around us. Lucian lingers at the counter, talking with Theo, but I feel him glance over now and then, and I can’t tell if they’re small check-ins or cries for help.
I tuck the thought away and let the conversation take me.
Outside, the pines press close, and the memory of the woods waits at the edge of everything, but here, for now, there is warmth and the soft, ordinary ritual of being with family.
When the bell over the door chimes again, it sounds less like an alarm and more like a promise: whatever comes next, we’ll meet it together.
* * *
The bell over Ms. Josie’s door gives a bright little jingle as we step inside her floral shop. Warm, earthy air hits us immediately, almost like she bottled sunlight and potting soil and decided that was the cure for everything.
Selene inhales like she’s been waiting all morning for this exact smell, and I’m not far behind her.
She always has fresh flowers floating around her house, and it’s nice to be able to see where they come from.
The place is overflowing: buckets of flowers crowding the floor, petals scattered like confetti, a radio humming something soft that sounds like it’s been playing since the seventies. It’s chaotic in an intentional way.
Theo and Lucian drift in behind us. Theo hasn’t stopped talking since we left Bear and Brew, and Lucian keeps giving him those low, noncommittal sounds that to Theo count as a full conversation. They look like two mismatched bookends someone keeps putting on the same shelf.
Ms. Josie looks up from a bucket next to the register, eyes bright like she’s been waiting all morning for some entertainment to keep her going. “Well, look at this crew,” she says, and I can’t tell if she means it as a compliment or a warning.
Selene says hello to Ms. Josie and is already halfway to a display of bright, frilly blooms when she gasps. “Oh my god. Celeste. Look.”
I groan as I see what she is pointing at. “Nope. We can’t. Don’t even start.”
“Yes,” she insists, already reaching for one. “Do you remember how much Orion hates these?”
I do, because we are the reason behind his hatred. “He said they were… what was the phrase?”
“‘Sentient little nightmares.’” Selene says proudly.
Theo, who has drifted close enough to hear, double blinks at us. “But they’re flowers.”
“Not to Orion,” I say. “When it came to preteen Orion, we used them as psychological warfare.”
My sister snorts. “Because we made them talk to him.”
Theo’s eyebrows shoot up. “I’m sorry, you what?”
I sigh, because this is the part where we sound unhinged. “We were kids. We found a pot of snapdragons on the porch one summer, and we realized their flowers look like little mouths, see?”
“So,” Selene continues for me, “we started putting them in his room at night. And then, we hid a walkie-talkie near the flowers and made them whisper to him.”
Theo is wheezing. “Why would you do that? I bet you made your brother think he was losing his mind.”
“Oh, he absolutely thought he was,” I say. “He cried. Twice.”
“In our defense,” Selene says, holding up a finger, “he stole my diary that week.”
“And he told our mom I stole her favorite lipstick,” I add.
Lucian, who has been listening with that quiet, unreadable expression he gets when he’s trying not to smile, finally speaks. “So you traumatized him with… snapdragons.”
“Correct,” Selene says. “And now he hates them.”
I pick up one of the blooms. Its little mouth opens when I squeeze it, like it’s about to deliver a monologue. “Didn’t you say he’s arriving tomorrow? We should absolutely get some. Maybe go find walkie-talkies too.”
“I am fully in support of this type of chaos,” Theo adds, wiping at his eyes. “I’m paying.”
Ms. Josie, who has been following the entire conversation with the patience of someone who has raised multiple children, nods approvingly. “Snapdragons are excellent for stirring the pot. I’ll wrap them special for you.”
We gather our bouquets—Selene’s bright and chaotic, mine softer but still alive with color, the snapdragons tucked in like a secret joke waiting to detonate. Theo pays before anyone can argue. Lucian watches the exchange with a small, reluctant smile he tries to hide.
We step back out onto Main Street with our bouquets. Selene is practically vibrating with anticipation at the thought of Orion walking into the house tonight and immediately spiraling.
Theo’s still laughing about it as we walk. “I cannot believe you two gaslit your brother with flowers.”
Lucian shakes his head, but he’s smiling in a soft way like he’s trying not to encourage us.
We’re halfway down the block when Selene stops short in front of a narrow little corner shop wedged between the hardware store and a place that sells homemade fudge.
The sign above the door reads Miller’s General & Novelty, which is Main Street code for we sell everything and none of it belongs together.
“Yes! Here we are, let’s go in,” she says, already pushing the door open.
Inside, the place smells like dust, bubblegum, and old cardboard—the holy trinity of childhood chaos.
Shelves are stacked with everything from coloring books to fishing lures to off-brand cereal that looks like it’s been here since the Reagan administration.
It’s the kind of store that shouldn’t exist anymore, but refuses to die out of sheer spite.
Theo wanders toward a rack of novelty socks.
Lucian drifts to the back, scanning shelves like he’s assessing structural integrity.
Selene and I move down an aisle lined with toys—plastic dinosaurs, slinkies, rubber balls that promise to bounce “up to 30 feet,” which feels like a threat to public safety.
Then Selene freezes.
“Oh,” she whispers. “Celeste. Lookie what I found.”
I follow her gaze.
There, hanging on a pegboard like fate itself arranged the display, is a two-pack of walkie-talkies. Bright blue and made of cheap plastic, just like the ones we used as kids to carry our whispered snapdragon monologues straight into Orion’s nightmares.
I laugh out loud. “Are we really going to do this?”
Selene picks up the pack, eyes sparkling with the kind of mischief that should come with a warning label. “We absolutely are.”
We bring the walkie-talkies to the counter. The cashier looks like he’s been running this place since the dawn of time, rings up our loot without blinking, like four adults buying children’s spy gear is the most normal thing he’s seen today.
Maybe it is.
When we step back onto Main Street, the sun is brighter, the air warmer, and the snapdragons rustle in the breeze like they’re already plotting.
Tonight is going to be chaos.
And honestly?
I can’t wait.