Page 57 of Cold Mercy

And then there's her. She looks right through the armor, right past the professional lies, and sees someone who deserves something good. She’s the first person who ever has. And in this single, devastating moment, she’s cracking something open in me that I thought was sealed shut forever.

She walks up the stairs, not looking back. I stand there like an idiot, panic rising in my throat, because she’s close enough to touch but so far I’ll never reach her again.

“Sophia,” I try.

But she doesn’t turn around, doesn't stop, doesn't want to.

I gather the files, load them into her car, and take the keys she left on the counter.

CHAPTER 11

SOPHIA

Two years. Two fucking years I spent mourning a man who didn’t exist. I cried over Noah as if he were some saint. Warm, steady-handed, loyal, always there to catch me. I ruined myself defending a ghost, chasing a fantasy that was never real. I crawled through streets I never should’ve walked, searching for justice that was just a smokescreen for his lies. I shut myself off from the world because I thought the universe was punishing me. Turns out I was just too stupid to see the truth. I grieved for a man who played me like I was disposable. The man I loved never existed. The man he turns out to be? I wouldn’t give him a second look. He chose this life, and he paid the price. But he left half the consequences on my shoulders.

I’ve lost track of how many days have passed since Thomas walked out that door. Since Sterling stood in my living room and shattered the last two years of my life. If the leaves turning red outside my window are any indication, I think it’s already October.

Distance is good, and it's necessary. Because what did we really have? A connection forged in panic, blood, and adrenaline. That isn't a foundation for anything. How am I supposed to know if he meant a single word he said? How can I trust that his desire to stay wasn't just a savior complex kicking in because he saw a woman falling apart?

He texts occasionally. Short, clipped messages: ‘Everything okay?’ or ‘Check in.’

But I don’t answer, telling myself he only does it because he feels obligated. Two armed men broke into my home and threatened to carve me open on his watch; that kind of trauma creates a debt, not a bond. And I hate pity more than anything.

I spend most of my nights staring at the ceiling, unable to distinguish the source of the pain anymore. I don’t know if I’m crying because my fiancé was a fucking liar, or because I pushed away the one man who actually wanted to sit in the dark with me.

That is the paradox of Thomas Reed. When he held me, he felt like the safest place I have known in a lifetime. An anchor. But the moment he steps back, he becomes a shadow. He is one of the most guarded, mysterious people I’ve ever met, a locked door I am too exhausted to try to open. I can’t afford to trust a mystery.

My spiral of overthinking is interrupted by Mrs. Gonzalez knocking on my door and entering immediately, like she’s afraid of finding an actual corpse.

“I’m alive!” I yell. “You can work in peace.”

She clutches her chest dramatically. “Mija… you have a guest.”

Every lock and code in this house was changed after Sterling. I gave both her and Hector clear instructions.

Of course she ignored them.

“I told you not to let him in! Kick him out.”

Why would I want to see him? What ties me to him except a trail of trauma?

She clears her throat.

“Not Mr. Thomas… Ms. Elizabeth. And she insisted, threatened… so I let her in.”

The disappointment hits me in the chest before I can block it, and that makes me sick. I’m a fucking hypocrite. A minute ago, I was ready to scream at him to leave, to barricade the door against him. But the second I realized he didn't come, that he actually stayed away like I asked… I felt something hollow carve itself out in my stomach. I wanted it to be him.

I drag myself downstairs in an oversized hoodie and messy hair. Elizabeth stands with her arms crossed and one foot tapping like she’s trying to intimidate me, but she looks ridiculous.

“What the fuck is happening?” she fires before I can say anything.

“Wow. I didn’t know you could swear, maybe not so early in the morning?”

“It’s two p.m., genius. I gave you space when you didn’t want me around, but I’m not losing you again. Sit and speak right now.”

She means well, and I love her, but she’ll die of shock if she hears the full story. Better keep it simple.

“I just don’t want to see anyone. And I’m allowed to have that right, even if it’s just a shitty mood.”