MACEY
I heard my mother’s voice before I saw her.
It drifted from the front porch low, polite, and careful, the tone she used with strangers or people she didn’t quite trust.
I had come downstairs for a bottle of water, half-asleep in my oversized hoodie and fuzzy socks, when another voice cut through the quiet. Deep. Rough. Familiar enough to stop my heart mid-beat.
Damien.
For a moment, I froze on the last step, my hand gripping the railing so tightly my knuckles ached.
I thought maybe I was dreaming, that my mind was cruelly conjuring him again like it had so many nights. But then he spoke again, that quiet, restrained tone that carried too much weight.
He was here.
I didn’t even think. My feet moved before my brain caught up, carrying me closer to the sound. Each ste
