Avalon
Sunlight poured through the triangular window, sharp and intrusive, burning against my barely-open eyes.
I groaned and reached across the mattress, searching instinctively for Clarke.
My hand met only warm, empty sheets—the kind of warmth that said she’d been there recently, but not long enough to leave the room cold.
That small absence tugged at something deep in my chest. I sat up slowly, letting my vision adjust. Her pajamas were folded neatly on the chair—a quiet, deliberate gesture that felt so distinctly Clarke it almost made my throat tighten. But the room itself was hollow without her.
Maybe she was already downstairs with Melody. Maybe she was outside helping her father. Maybe she just needed space after everything.
I pulled on a pair of cut-off shorts and an old shirt, twisted my hair into a knot, and forced my steps steady as I headed down the stairs.
Mrs. King and Colton sat at the dining table; each wrapped around a mug of coffee like it was the only thing keeping them upright. Exhaustion clung to them— dark circles, slumped shoulders, the kind of stillness that comes after too many hours of fear.
They both looked up when I entered.
“Avalon,” Mrs. King said, wiping her face and sitting straighter. “How’d you sleep, Honey?” She looked so much like Clarke in that moment—those blue eyes, the strong nose, the quiet steel beneath the softness. It made my chest ache.
“Fine, given the circumstances,” I said, and immediately regretted how cold it sounded. But neither of them flinched.
“Would you like some coffee, or something to eat?” she asked.
“No, thank you; I’m actually looking for—”
“Please, Avalon.” Her tone sharpened just enough to make it clear this wasn’t a suggestion. She gestured to the chair beside her. “Sit.”
Colton didn’t speak, didn’t even look away from the window. He was a statue carved out of worry.
I sat, smoothing my palms over my thighs, bracing myself. “Where’s Clarke? Is she—”
“She’s fine,” Mrs. King said gently, taking my hand. “My oldest daughter likes to process things by herself. She needs a little extra space sometimes, but she’ll be okay.” Her expression shifted—soft, but purposeful. “I actually wanted to talk to you about Melody.”
My stomach tightened. Melody. God. After last night, the word alone felt like a bruise.
“She wants to see you.”
The sentence hit me harder than I expected— a sudden, quiet blow to the ribs. Melody wanted to see me. Not Clarke. Not her parents.
Me.
Something in my chest stuttered, a strange mix of fear and tenderness and disbelief. I wasn’t used to being wanted—not in a way that mattered. Not in a way that felt like responsibility.
I blinked, slowly retracting my hand. “She wants to see me?” My voice sounded small, even to me.
Mrs. King nodded. “She’s taken a liking to you—my daughter. And when she likes someone…” She chuckled softly, shaking her head. “Go see her.”
There was no hesitation left in me after that.
I slipped down the hall toward Melody’s room, memories of our movie nights flickering through my mind—popcorn, cheesy rom-coms, her teasing commentary about my dad’s films. Those moments had always carried a quiet ache, the unspoken understanding that each one might be our last.
I knocked lightly. “Hey, Melly.”
She turned from the window, her face brightening for a heartbeat before the effort drained it again.
“Ava!” she beamed—then coughed, the sound sharp enough to make me wince. I rushed to her side, taking her cold hand in mine.
“Melly, you’re freezing,” I murmured, tucking more blankets around her.
She shrugged. “It’s one of the downsides of being terminally ill, but I don’t want to talk about me dying—”
“Hey,” I cut in. “Don’t use that kind of language. I have a doctor coming. Soon you’ll be right as rain.”
I pushed her thinning hair back, trying not to stare at the bald patches. She looked so small. Too small.
“Avalon,” she whispered, gripping my hand tighter. “I’ve been dying for as long as I can remember. My parents have talked to every specialist. I’m dying. Please accept that. It’ll make it easier.”
Tears stung my eyes. “Not all of them—my friend put the best oncologist in the country on a plane; she should be here—”
“Please stop.” Her voice snapped, firm despite how weak she was. “Nothing is going to cure me. It would take a miracle.”
She dipped her head. “Mama thinks I can’t hear when I close my eyes, but I heard her and Daddy whisper.”
“You’re not going to—”
“Yes, I am.” She smiled, small but certain. “And I’m okay with that because I know my family will be taken care of. Mama and Daddy have each other, Colton has Delia, and Clarke has you.”
I blinked. “Me? No, Clarke has Delia. I’m just…hanging around.”
Melody laughed then coughed again. “No, silly. Delia will be too busy being married to my brother. And Clarke…she’ll be left all alone.”
My eyebrows shot up. Delia and Colton? Married? I’d suspected something, but not that.
“Are you excited for their wedding?” I asked.
She shrugged. “I hope I can make it till then. It’s one of the last things I want to see before I go.”
“You will,” I said, squeezing her hand. “They’ll let you be the flower girl. Or a bridesmaid.”
She smiled weakly. “I wouldn’t look very nice with all these tubes.”
“You’ll be the prettiest one there. No offense to the bride.”
That earned a laugh.
“Am I invited?” I teased.
Her eyes widened. “Of course! And if you’ll stay, I’m sure a certain someone would like that.”
Heat rushed to my face. Melody had been playing matchmaker since the day I arrived.
“I’m happy you’re here,” she whispered. “It’ll make my leaving easier on her.”
I leaned forward, squeezing her hand. “There’s no place I’d rather be. What’s the other thing you want to see before you go?” I asked softly.
She brightened. “You and my sister. You like each other, right?”
My face burned hotter. “Yeah. I think there’s something here.”
“Oh, I’m so glad.” She sighed with relief. “Clarke has these walls up. She built them so nobody could get in, but now they’re so strong she can’t get out. She’s trapped inside her own boundaries.”
She squeezed my hand—her strongest grip still barely pressure.
“You have to get in,” she whispered. “I don’t know how, but you have to save her from herself.”
Her expression fell. “My death will be the hardest for her. My parents have been preparing for months, and Colton…he was always away when it got bad. But Clarke?”
She sniffled, wiping a tear. “Clarke always held onto hope. She used to say: ‘Melody, when all else fails, we hold onto hope.’ But now I think she needs something else to hold onto.” She looked at me with fierce determination.
“Promise me you’ll be there for her. Even when she pushes you away. Promise you won’t leave her alone.”
Tears spilled freely down my cheeks. I didn’t bother wiping them. I placed my other hand over hers. “I promise.” I held out my pinky.
She wrapped hers around it.
“Pinky promise.”