29. Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Charon
Complete silence draws me from sleep.
Soft, unfamiliar stillness. No thunder, no screaming wind. Just birdsong and the lapping ocean waves. For the first time in what feels like days, I don’t ache like I’m dying.
My eyes blink open slowly, the hazy gold of morning light spilling through cracks in the lighthouse walls. Warmth caresses my skin, not fever-warmth, but…sunlight.
Shifting slightly on the ground, I test my limbs. They're still sore and weak, but I’m not shaking or burning like I was when Hector fed me—
Hector .
I bolt straight up, too fast, black dots dancing at the edge of my sight. A blanket slips from my shoulders when I take in the pile of burnt ashes in the center of the room, flames long since dead.
He’s not here.
Panic claws at my chest as I stand, my knees nearly buckling. Steadying myself against the stone wall, I listen for any signs of him with spasming lungs.
Once the rush of blood in my ears dissipates, I finally hear his muffled voice—a murmur of words I can’t quite dissect, followed by a sharp little squawk from Nyx.
I follow the sound down a vine-covered hallway until I spot the edge of a trapdoor tucked behind a broken crate. Faint light filters up from below.
“…we're saving these for him,” Hector chastises, clicking his tongue. “You’re such a little shit.”
Nyx caws in protest.
I descend the stairs carefully, clinging to the rail as each step groans beneath my weight.
At the bottom, I pause, taking in what seems like some kind of cellar.
It's warmer than upstairs, tucked away from the wind.
Stone walls curve in a half-circle, stacked with rusted shelves covered in jars and cans of…
food. A small bed sits in the far corner, blankets tossed aside, and old photographs line the wall beside it.
Hector sits cross-legged on the floor with a jar between his knees and Nyx perched on one shoulder. Tongue caught between his teeth, blond curls an adorable mess, skin clean as if he somehow scrubbed away the last few days.
He looks up when I reach the last step, relief flooding his features. “Hey. You’re awake. ”
I nod as Nyx launches from his shoulder, fluttering to mine. She nips at my jaw affectionately, and I run a finger down her beak, gaze still on Hector.
“You look better,” he adds, emerald eyes roaming my frame. “Still pale, but not as bad.”
Using a shelf for leverage, he pulls himself up before hopping over to me.
His hand hovers uncertainly in the air, like he's unsure whether to touch me or not, so I pull him into my arms and place a soft kiss on his lips.
Nyx smacks my cheek with her wing as she flutters away in annoyance, but Hector sighs into my mouth, melting against my chest.
“I was worried you wouldn't make it,” he rasps, stealing another kiss before gesturing to the covered shelves.
“But look, look what I found. There's stuff to eat, and medicine.
At least…I assumed it was medicine when I gave it to you.
There was a giant red cross on it. And I boiled us some rainwater.
If I'd known all this stuff was down here a few days ago, I, uh… wouldn't have fed you a dead rat.”
My lips twitch as I squeeze him, attention drifting to the yellowed photos near the bed. Snapshots of lives long gone—a young couple smiling in front of the lighthouse, one of a picnic spread across a blanket with silver glinting in the sky. Smiling, sun-kissed faces.
Hector follows my stare. “I don't know who this place belonged to, but I think they're dead.”
I nod once, brushing my thumb gently over the back of his neck. We stand like that for a moment, swaying slightly in the quiet cellar, letting the silence stretch between us as we study the photos. A ghost of laughter clings to the images, like a life paused mid-breath.
“I was thinking we could stay,” he murmurs eventually, gazing up at me. “I mean, there’s a bed now. A real one. Maybe we could learn to fish or hunt. I know they used to do that back at Aster’s Hollow, but the Judge put a stop to it when I was young—”
He cuts himself off with a wince, and I reach out, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. My fingers linger along his jaw until he leans into my palm with a breathy little laugh, the first I've ever heard him make. It's beautiful. I could spend the rest of my life pulling that sound out of him.
“You think we could do it?” he asks after a beat, grasping my wrist. “Build something here? Just…exist, you and me?” An irritated caw echoes from the corner. “And your murder bird.”
I wish I could shout 'yes ' out loud, wish I had the words he deserves to hear. But instead, I press my forehead to his, closing my eyes as I let my answer bleed into my touch, into the way I hold him like he’s the most precious thing in the world to me.
Opening my eyes, I glance one last time at the photographs, wondering what kind of love the couple in them shared, what held them together when the world fell apart. Was it as fierce as what I feel for Hector? Did they get to keep it until the very end?
I hope so.
Maybe if we’re careful, if we’re lucky, we’ll last long enough to be like the people in those photos, too.
“I love you,” I whisper against his ear, savoring the slight noise that comes from his throat.
His fingers thread into my hair, and when he kisses me again, it’s slow and sure like a promise .
For once, I believe we might just get to keep this, even if the world still burns around us. I know we still have things to do, like finding my boat and my mother’s book, maybe looting what's left of Zone T for supplies before anyone else does.
But all of that can wait.
Because we're both here, our hearts are still beating, and I don't want to waste another breath living in the past.