I don’t remember the exact words.
That’s the worst part.
I remember tone. Pauses. The way voices dropped when they thought no one was close enough to hear. I remember my name—spoken carefully, like it was sharp enough to cut someone who handled it wrong.
That’s what stays with me as I lie awake long after the house settles into quiet.
Not fear. Not panic.
Certainty.
Asher is hiding something from me.
The thought doesn’t come with anger anymore. It doesn’t even ache the way it did right after the kiss, when confusion clawed at my chest and his avoidance felt personal, sharp, humiliating. Now it sits heavy and solid, like a stone placed deliberately in my path.
I turn onto my side and stare at the faint glow of moonlight slipping through the curtains.
The voice in my head doesn’t sp
