46. Harmony
Harmony
I don’ t run far.
Not because I’m stupid. Not because I want to get caught.
Because I’m not done yet.
My boots crunch against the gravel shoulder of some nameless road, the motel’s glow long gone behind me, swallowed by trees and time. The gun is still in my hand—still warm. My fingers won’t unclench.
I shot him.
I shot him.
I should’ve finished the job.
The cold cuts through my jacket like needles, but I don’t stop moving. One hand clutches my duffel. The other grips the gun like a lifeline. My heart won’t slow down. It’s pounding a rhythm I don’t recognize—fear, rage, freedom. Maybe all three.
The highway is empty. Just the way I like it. The sky above is blacker than sin, with no stars to watch me unravel. I keep close to the tree line, ducking between shadows, always listening for tires on gravel or the low growl of Damien’s laugh echoing through the dark.
But there’s nothing.
Not yet.
I pass a faded road sign: Grand Junction — 3 miles .
I could hitchhike. Steal a car. Find a train and vanish.
But I don’t.
Because I need to see them again.
Evelyn.
Astra.
Reese —No.
Not him.
Not now.
My legs burn, lungs raw with cold air and adrenaline. But I don’t slow. I can’t. Not until I’m somewhere safe. Somewhere familiar . Somewhere with light.
It’s not about safety. Not really.
It’s about proof.
Proof I still exist outside of him. That I’m not just his branded toy. His ghost. His weapon.
I reach the edge of town just before sunrise. The streetlights here flicker, fighting against the coming dawn. A bakery opens on the corner. A kid on a bike flies past me without looking.
And still, I walk like I belong. Hood up. Eyes down.
There’s a library two blocks over. A coffee shop around the corner. And just beyond that, the neighborhood where Evelyn used to live. Where Astra crashed on her couch the winter after everything with Lucien went to hell.
I know this place.
It knows me.
I duck into a gas station bathroom to wash my face. The girl in the mirror looks older. Wilder. She’s got blood on her shirt and fire in her eyes.
I don’t flinch this time.
I walk back out, buy a hoodie two sizes too big, and pay in cash. The cl erk doesn’t even look at me.
I leave before I change my mind.
I sleep behind a church that night—on the ground, wrapped in my hoodie and every ounce of fear I still carry. I keep the gun at my side. My hand never leaves it.
And when the sun rises, I’ll be there.
Waiting.
Watching.
Because I don’t want to disappear.
Not until I see them.
Not until I know they’re okay.
Not until Damien knows —
I’m not afraid of the dark anymore.
I am the dark.
And I’m coming back.
* * *
The house looks too normal. The porch light flickers like it knows I don’t belong here.
I shouldn’t be here.
But I am.
Because she’s the only person I trust not to shoot me on instinct.
Because part of me still believes she’ll open the door before I break it down.
I creep up the walk, hood pulled low, body tense. The forest is quiet—too quiet. I tuck the gun deeper into my waistband and step onto the porch. I raise my hand to knock.
Then I don’t.
I stand there instead, fingers curled into a fist, heart pounding so loud it makes my ears ring.
Wh at if she slams the door?
What if she screams?
What if Lucien answers?
I don’t get the chance to find out.
The door opens.
Not all the way. Just a crack. But it’s enough.
Astra stands there barefoot in leggings and an oversized T-shirt, her hair messy, a coffee mug in one hand.
For a second, she doesn’t move.
Then her eyes widen. Her body goes stiff.
“Harmony?” she whispers, voice like broken porcelain.
I nod.
She opens the door wider, but doesn’t move aside. “You shouldn’t be here.”
“I know.”
Her eyes flick to the street behind me, scanning for danger. For him. “Is Damien—”
“No. Not yet.”
She swallows. Her free hand trembles.
And still—she steps back.
I enter the house like a stray animal. Careful. Hesitant. I expect the door to slam shut behind me with a bullet.
It doesn’t.
The door clicks closed. The deadbolt slides into place.
I breathe for the first time in hours.
Astra walks into the living room without a word. I follow. She sets her mug down on the coffee table and turns to face me.
“You look like Hell.”
“I crawled out of it yesterday,” I murmur.
She stares at me for a beat, then crosses the room in two strides and wraps her arms around me. Tight. Fierce. Shaking.
I collapse.
The gun clatters to the floor.
My knees buckle, and I crumple in her arms.
“It’s okay,” she whispers, running her fingers through my hair. “You’re safe. I’ve got you.”
I don’t deserve this.
I betrayed them.
I almost killed her.
And still—she holds me like I’m not poison.
“Lucien can’t know,” I say hoarsely.
“He’s not here. He’s with Dante. They’re moving Evelyn again. New safehouse.”
I close my eyes.
Good.
That gives me time.
She helps me to the couch. I sink into it like it might swallow me whole. My body aches in places I didn’t know could hurt. My soul feels splintered.
“I shot him,” I whisper. “I aimed for his head.”
Astra stiffens beside me. “Did you kill him?”
“No. Reese saved him.”
She exhales slowly. “Then we don’t have much time.”
“I couldn’t run far,” I say. “I needed to see you. I needed to know…”
Her eyes meet mine, sharp and glassy.
“…that I wasn’t alone.”
“You never were,” she says, voice trembling. “Even when you thought you were.”
My hands shake as I stare into them.
“I think he’s going to come for me. For everyone.”
“He already tried.”
A pause.
Th en—quietly, carefully—
“You’re not staying, are you?”
I shake my head. “I can’t.”
“Then let me help.”
“I don’t know how to let anyone help me anymore.”
She leans forward, grabbing my hand. “Then start small. Let me clean you up. Let me make you tea. Let me get you a fresh shirt that doesn’t smell like fear and gasoline.”
My throat tightens.
And I nod.
Because I don’t know how to be whole.
But maybe I can learn how to survive.
For now.