Skylar
The house felt too quiet, too still. My footsteps echoed on the wooden floor, each one carrying me farther into a silence that I didn't trust. I'd been craving peace for months—years, maybe—but now that it was here, it felt more like a noose closing in around my neck.
Julian sat on the couch, fiddling with his watch. He glanced up as I entered, his gaze tentative. "You okay?
"Fine," I said, though my tone probably gave me away. He knew better than to push it. I didn't want to talk. Not yet.
The box was on the dining table, innocuous and plain, as if it hadn't just flipped my world upside down. I stared at it, my arms crossed, as if the mere act of glaring could undo its contents.
Julian cleared his throat. "Do you want to—
"No." My voice came out sharper than I intended. I softened it. "Not yet."
I could feel his eyes on me, full of questions he wasn't asking. Julian never did know when to leave something alone.
