Into the Fading Twilight (Starlight Grove, #2) (2)

“Let … me … go.” It was what I needed. To finally be released. To go with the snowflakes. They would carry me away, and I would finally feel peace.

A hand slid through mine. “Nova. You’re going to live, okay? You’re alive. You’re breathing. And you’re going to fight for that. You’ve got so much to live for.”

But I didn’t feel that. I didn’t feel it one bit. All I felt was pain. It was stronger now. And I couldn’t bear it anymore.

He squeezed my hand. “Brae’s been looking for you. She never gave up. Never stopped.”

My best friend’s name. The promise of her. The one person who’d stuck by me through thick and thin. It sparked something deep inside me.

The kind man gripped my hand even harder. “You’re alive. You’re breathing. Just keep breathing, Nova. Keep breathing.”

Something about the desperation in his voice, the pleading there, made me want to fight. But it was too little too late. I was too far gone.

I slid under, but the snowflakes met me there. And they carried me, just like I knew they would.





CHAPTER ONE


Nova




FOUR MONTHS LATER

THE WIND LIFTED MY HAIR, SWIRLING THE DARK-BROWN strands in front of my face as I stared out at the water below. Soon, it would be too cold for anyone to consider this endeavor sane. Who was I kidding? People already thought that ship had sailed when it came to me.

I’d heard the muttered “crazy.” Or the tsking and “Poor dear. She’ll never be the same.”

They weren’t wrong. I wouldn’t be the same. But I was okay with that.

I eased out of my sneakers, tossed them down the cliff to the lakeshore below, and slipped out of my shorts and tee. I’d leave those up here. With my luck, they’d land in the water if I dropped them.

Taking a step forward, I inhaled deeply, the straps of my swimsuit cutting into my shoulders. The scents of pine and lake water swirled as I placed my palm directly over my heart, not opening my eyes. The steady beat against my hand was just another reassurance I desperately needed.

Blood roared in my ears, and it felt like my muscles might tear free of the skin encasing them. Everything was so loud: the voices, the concerns, the whispered worries.

“You’re alive,” I croaked. “You’re breathing.”

And then, I jumped.

I didn’t look. My body had already memorized exactly what it needed to do: Hurl myself out over the rocks and wait for the miracle.

The wind whipped against my body, colder now that we were in late September. And then it hit. Pain and sheer pleasure all at once. The water smacked against my skin—the kind of slap that assured me I was most definitely alive.

The shock hit me like a freight train, but I welcomed it. I let my body go down, down, down, without trying to swim for the surface. Instead, I tipped my head back and stared up.

The water was a dark, blueish-green haze. The sun sparkled through the surface, and I watched it all—the way it felt like I’d watched so much during my coming back, being on the outside looking in. But unlike all those other moments, this was the one place the world went quiet.

My lungs burned, but I held on for one more moment, needing more of the silence. My chest raged, ribs squeezing painfully, and I finally kicked for the surface. It was harder. Everything was. I’d lost too much muscle and bone density while in captivity. But I’d gained fight. And I knew how to use it.

I broke the surface, sucking air into my lungs. It was pain and relief all at once, and I knew in that moment that I was still here. There was no doubt in my mind—no waking from a nightmare, wondering if I was dead or still locked away. I was alive, and I was breathing.

I took in a few more lungsful of air and then flipped to my back, floating. The sun was so bright that I had to shut my eyes. Something about the lack of light and vitamin D while I’d been locked away had injured my eyes. The doctor told me they’d likely heal with time, but for now, sunglasses were my best friend.

Which wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. They could hide the things my eyes revealed.

I floated for a few more minutes until the cold seeped into my bones. I never let it fully set in. That brought snippets of memory: shivering on the thin mattress on the floor, the stale air.

I shoved those memories back down to where I’d locked them away.

There’d been nothing but sweet relief when I woke in the hospital, unable to remember the details of my capture or confinement. But the numbness hadn’t lasted. I was starting to get brief snatches of things.

But based on the little information I had about my time in captivity, there was no way to know if they were truly my memories or something my imagination had conjured up. It was a hell of a thing, not being able to trust your own mind.

Flipping over to my stomach, I swam toward the shore. By the time I reached the beach, my muscles ached and my arms felt like they weighed a ton each. It didn’t matter how hard I tried to ease myself back into working out or how diligently I followed the plan the nutritionist had laid out for me, the strength always seemed just out of reach.

“You’re alive. You’re breathing.”

His voice—the one that always seemed to keep me going—echoed in my head. The voice of a man whose life had ended up inextricably linked to mine. Someone who had no idea that he drowned out the sound of my monsters.