Chapter 13

Thirteen

The drive back to the old science building felt longer than usual, my knuckles white against the steering wheel. Snow drifted lazily across the windshield, but I barely noticed. My mind was too busy replaying last night—the way she looked under me, broken and perfect, her voice raw from the sounds I’d dragged from her. Mine.

But then this morning. Her silence. Her emptiness.

It gnawed at me like a splinter I couldn’t pull free.

I glanced at the bag on the seat next to me, the scent of her favorite food curling through the car—a small comfort, something to remind her she was cared for. Loved. If I had to drag her out of that blank, empty place, I would.

Beside the food sat a small box containing a Kindle and an iPod Classic. The Kindle was loaded with recommendations I’d spent hours curating. I’d scrolled through her phone—the one I’d taken from her when I brought her here—and found her book app, combing through every title she’d ever read. There had been hundreds. A mix of romance, thrillers, and fantasy—and I’d made a list.

“If you like this, you’ll love…”

The websites had made it easy. I’d made sure the Kindle was bursting with options. She wouldn’t be able to say I didn’t know her—that I hadn’t paid attention .

The iPod Classic sat on top of the Kindle, pristine, like a relic from another time. It had taken me hours to load it—every single song she’d ever listened to on her playlists. I’d pulled them from her phone, combing through her music apps and search history. She’d had a thing for old-school bands, some indie songs that made no sense, and a few guilty-pleasure pop tracks she probably thought no one knew about.

I knew everything.

I’d made her a playlist, too. My songs for her—songs that meant something. Songs that reminded me of her.

The thought made my chest ache in a way I didn’t like. I tightened my grip on the wheel and forced it down. She’d love it. She had to.

I parked and grabbed the bag and box, making my way to the basement door with quick, determined steps. The air was sharp, biting at my face, and I thought of her down there, warm and waiting for me.

I’m giving you everything, Kira.

The key turned in the lock with a quiet click, and I pushed the door open, the warm, stale air rushing to greet me. The basement was still, the silence settling around me like a weight as I descended the stairs.

She was on the mattress, curled tightly on her side, facing the wall. The blankets were pulled around her, but I could still see the bare curve of her shoulder. Her breathing was slow and shallow—too shallow.

She’s fine.

“Kira,” I said softly, setting the bag down on the floor. She didn’t move.

I crouched beside the bed, reaching out to brush a strand of hair from her face. Her body flinched under my touch, but she didn’t pull away. I leaned closer, frowning as I caught the blank look in her eyes. She stared at the wall like I wasn’t there.

No.

“Hey,” I murmured, forcing softness into my voice. “Look at me.”

Nothing.

I exhaled slowly through my nose, fighting the surge of frustration bubbling up. I couldn’t lose her again—not to that hollow place she crawled into when she thought I wasn’t watching.

“I brought you something,” I said, standing and pulling the Kindle from the box. I sat on the edge of the mattress and powered it on, the screen glowing in the darkness. “Books. All the ones you like—and some new ones. I went through your app, Kira. I saw what you’ve read, and I picked out more you’d love.”

Still, nothing.

I gritted my teeth, swallowing the irritation that tried to claw its way out. I reached for the iPod next, holding it up so she could see it. “And this. An iPod Classic. You said you loved these.” My voice dropped lower, quieter. “I filled it with everything from your playlists. Your favorites.”

Her breath hitched faintly, and I froze.

There.

“I made you a playlist, too,” I added softly. “Songs that remind me of you.”

She blinked, her gaze flickering—just for a second. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to keep me going.

“I have to be gone Friday night and Saturday,” I told her, placing the Kindle and iPod under her pillow like they were precious gifts. “The game’s away, but I’ll be back Sunday. These will keep you company until then.”

Silence.

“Kira,” I said sharply, my patience splintering. My hand cupped her chin, forcing her to look at me. Her eyes were glassy, rimmed red—like she’d cried herself empty. It made something twist inside me, something I didn’t know how to name.

“You’re not going anywhere,” I murmured, brushing my thumb over her cheek. “You’re not disappearing on me again.”

A tear slipped free, and I caught it, smearing it away with my thumb. My chest tightened painfully.

“I’m doing this for you, Kira. Because I care about you. Because I see you. No one else ever paid attention, did they?”

She didn’t answer, but the silence was enough. I slid onto the mattress behind her, pulling her stiff body into mine, her back flush against my chest. My arm curled around her waist, locking her in place.

“I’m coming back for you,” I whispered into her hair, my lips brushing her temple. “You’ll see. I’m giving you everything. You just need to trust me.”

She didn’t respond. She never did.

But as I held her there, her body trembling faintly against mine, I knew I wouldn’t let her go. Not now. Not ever.