All that was left : what remains after darkness?

CHAPTER 10

Zara's POV

The plane hummed softly beneath me, the steady vibration already lulling most passengers into silence. First class was quiet, almost too quiet, white leather seats, chilled air, attendants moving like shadows. Everything here was polished, elegant, expensive.

And I hated it.

I sat stiffly, staring out the oval window. My reflection looked foreign in the glass: swollen eyes, lips pressed tight, hoodie drawn up around my face. On the outside, it must've looked like I belonged here, tucked away in luxury. But inside... I felt hollow. Like I'd left my real life behind at the gate.

I was leaving everything... my parents, my home, my brother. And Jonas. Especially Jonas.

The thought of him standing alone in that airport, watching me disappear, made my chest cave in. His arms had been the only place I'd felt safe since the accident. He'd seen me at my lowest, my weakest, my ugliest, and he hadn't turned away. And now I had to leave him behind like none of it mattered.

A lump rose in my throat. I blinked hard, but the tears still pricked hot at the corners of my eyes.

"Drink?" Rita's voice cut through the fog. She was sitting across from me, posture relaxed but eyes sharp as always. She'd taken off her jacket, blending in just enough to pass as any other passenger, but I knew better. Rita was never off-duty.

I shook my head. "No." My voice cracked, and I quickly turned back to the window.

Rita studied me for a moment, then leaned forward slightly, lowering her voice. "I gave it to him."

My breath hitched. I turned, confused. "What?"

"The cheque," she clarified. Her expression softened. "From your grandparents. They insisted. Said no amount of gratitude could equal what he did. He turned me down at the hospital, but..." She shrugged faintly. "I wasn't about to let him refuse again."

I blinked, my heart twisting. "So he knows?"

"By now, yes."

I pressed a hand to my mouth, trying to imagine Jonas's face when he opened that envelope. Shocked. Overwhelmed. Maybe even angry. He never wanted money. He never wanted anything.

Tears slipped free, trailing hot down my cheeks.

Rita's gaze softened further. "This isn't payment, Zara. It's acknowledgment. He saved you. Your grandparents wanted him to know his worth."

I nodded faintly, though the ache in my chest didn't ease. Because Jonas's worth to me had nothing to do with numbers on a cheque. He was worth everything.

I leaned my forehead against the cool window, watching the runway lights blur as the plane prepared for takeoff. The engines roared louder, and with every second, the distance between me and Jonas grew wider.

And I wondered if I'd ever get the chance to tell him the truth... that no matter what they gave him, no matter how far away I went... he was the one thing I couldn't let go of.

—

The jolt of the landing gear shook me awake. My head had been resting against the window, cheek pressed to the cool glass, but now the plane rattled and groaned as it touched down.

London.

For a moment, I just sat there, staring at the fog-draped skyline in the distance. It felt unreal, like I'd blinked and been transported to another world. But the ache in my chest reminded me this was real. Too real.

The seatbelt light clicked off. Around me, people stretched, retrieved their carry-ons, murmured to each other about connections and traffic. All normal things. But nothing about this felt normal to me.

Rita stood first, tugging her jacket back on. Professional mask back in place. "Come on," she said quietly, not unkindly. "Your grandparents' driver is already waiting."

I nodded, fumbling with my hoodie strings before standing. My legs felt heavy, like they were carrying not just me, but everything I'd left behind.

Walking through the terminal was overwhelming, bright lights, endless voices, announcements echoing overhead. But I barely registered any of it. All I could think about was Jonas. The way his arms felt around me this morning. The way his lips felt against mine, brief and soft, like a goodbye he didn't know was a goodbye.

By the time we reached baggage claim, my chest was tight again. My hands trembled as I grabbed my suitcase handle. Rita noticed, of course. She always noticed.

"Steady," she murmured, placing a hand on my shoulder. "One step at a time, Zara. You're not alone."

I wanted to believe her. But I'd never felt more alone in my life.

When we stepped outside, the crisp London air hit me, cool, damp, smelling faintly of rain. A sleek black car was parked at the curb. The driver in a suit immediately stepped forward, taking my luggage.

And then I saw them.

My grandparents.

Both standing near the car, dressed elegantly as always, this was supposed to feel like homecoming. Like safety. Like family.

But all I felt was loss.

Loss of my parents, my brother, my childhood home. Loss of Jonas.

The moment my grandparents saw me, their faces broke into raw, unguarded relief. My grandmother's hands flew to her mouth, her eyes shining as though she couldn't believe I was real. My grandfather, stoic, reserved, the kind of man who never let emotion slip, moved toward me faster than I'd ever seen him walk.

And then I was in their arms.

The world blurred away. Their hold was warm, steady, familiar. My grandmother's perfume wrapped around me, soft and floral, the same scent I'd loved as a child when she'd tuck me against her side during summer visits. My grandfather's arms were strong, protective, grounding, like the walls of a fortress I could collapse inside.

The dam inside me cracked.

Tears spilled hot and fast down my cheeks, soaking into my grandmother's coat. She didn't shush me, didn't tell me to stop. She just held me tighter, stroking my hair, whispering, "You're safe, my darling. You're safe now."

My grandfather's hand pressed firmly between my shoulder blades, a silent vow in his touch. "You'll never go through anything like that again," he said gruffly, his voice thick with a promise he meant to keep.

And for the first time since everything fell apart, since the night my parents died, since the attack, since walking out of my house broken and afraid... I felt at home. Safe.

I absolutely adored them. I always had. Their love wasn't loud or showy, but it was steady, constant, unshakable. Being wrapped in it now was like finally finding a light in the middle of the storm.

I clung to them both, my chest heaving with sobs I couldn't hold back anymore. And instead of feeling out of place, I felt... home, loved, protected.

Because if I had lost everything else, at least I still had them.

—

The ride from the airport blurred by in silence. I sat nestled between my grandparents in the back of the sleek car, their hands occasionally brushing mine as though reminding themselves I was really there. Every now and then, my grandmother would glance at me, eyes shining with unshed tears, while my grandfather sat forward, his jaw tight, gaze fixed on the road ahead.

By the time we pulled up to their townhouse in Kensington, my body felt like lead. The house loomed tall and elegant, ivy climbing up the pale stone walls, golden lights glowing warmly from inside. It was beautiful, but intimidating, the kind of place that looked like it belonged in glossy magazines rather than in anyone's real life.

The front door swung open before we reached it, and there she was.

Maria.

Her dark hair was pulled into a neat bun, streaked lightly with gray now, but her posture was straight, her expression alert. She'd been with my grandparents for as long as I could remember, the constant presence in every holiday visit, always fussing over coats and hot cocoa, always smiling kindly when I sneaked extra cookies.

Her eyes landed on me, and in an instant, they filled. "Mi cielo..." she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. She didn't hesitate, didn't care about boundaries or propriety. She pulled me into her arms.

And I let her.

Her embrace was warm, steady, familiar in a way that reminded me of childhood winters and soft lullabies in another language. She pulled back only slightly, cupping my face like a second mother would. "Look at you. My sweet girl, all grown and still so beautiful. I prayed for you every night."

Tears prickled again, but I forced a smile. "Thank you, Maria."

She nodded, brushing at her own eyes quickly before straightening her apron. "Come, come. You must be tired. Your room is ready."

My grandparents led me upstairs, Maria trailing behind, already rattling off something about fresh linens and hot meals. The hallway smelled faintly of lemon polish and lavender. When the door opened, I stopped short.

The bedroom was huge. A canopy bed draped in cream fabric stood at the center, soft rugs layered across the wooden floor, and wide windows overlooked the garden below. Everything was elegant, pristine, but... there were touches that tugged at my chest, framed photos of me as a child, a quilt I remembered napping under during summers, even the stuffed bear I'd left behind years ago perched neatly on a chair.

They'd been waiting for me. Preparing for me.

"This is yours now," my grandmother said gently, smoothing a corner of the quilt. "Your space. Safe, always."

I swallowed hard, unable to find words.

Before I could answer, there was a sudden knock, and then the door burst open.

A girl slipped inside, nearly tripping over her own sneakers as she pushed past Maria. She had dark curls bouncing around her face, big brown eyes, and an energy that instantly filled the room.

"Hi!" she said, too loud for the quiet house. "You must be Zara. I'm Maya, Maria's daughter. I've heard about you since forever. My mom never shuts up about you."

"Maya," Maria scolded softly, but the girl just grinned, undeterred.

She flopped onto the end of the bed like she'd been doing it for years. "So. You're finally here. Do you like London? Isn't it freezing compared to back home? Do you get jet lag? Oh my God, your hoodie is so cool, where'd you get it?"

I blinked, caught completely off-guard by the onslaught of words.

Maya didn't notice. Or maybe she didn't care. She was already leaning forward, eyes sparkling with curiosity. "Do you like iced coffee? Because there's this café down the street that makes the best one ever. And do you like music? Because I have like, a thousand playlists I could send you. Also are you gonna go to school here? Because if you are, you're so lucky, it's way better than my school. Oh, and—"

"Maya," Maria cut in more firmly this time, though she was hiding a smile. "Let her breathe, cariño."

Maya threw her hands up innocently. "What? I'm just being friendly!"

Despite myself, a tiny laugh escaped my throat, small, shaky, but real. And for the first time since I left Jonas, the heaviness in my chest eased, just a little.

—

Dinner came on a silver tray, roasted chicken, buttery mashed potatoes, warm bread rolls, but I barely tasted it. I ate enough to quiet the ache in my stomach, then set the tray aside. The weight of the day pressed down on me, every nerve buzzing with exhaustion, but also something restless.

I ran the bath myself, pouring in the bubblegum and strawberry soak I'd tucked into my suitcase. The scent filled the bathroom instantly, sweet and nostalgic, like candy shops and summer afternoons. Steam curled around me as I piled my hair into a bun and slipped into the tub.

The hot water wrapped around me, loosening muscles that had been tight since the moment I stepped on that plane. I leaned back, eyes closed, trying to breathe, trying to let it all fade... London, my grandparents, even Maya's endless chatter. But no matter how hard I tried, only one thought stayed, circling endlessly.

Jonas.

His arms. His voice. The way he looked at me like I wasn't broken.

I opened my eyes and reached for my phone on the counter. The screen glowed: 9:03 PM. London. My chest tightened. I did the math automatically. That meant it was 4:03 PM back home.

Not too late. Not too early.

Before I could second-guess myself, I hit video call.

The ring barely lasted a second before the screen shifted , and there he was. Jonas.

He was lying on his bed, one arm behind his head, his curls a little messy, the late-afternoon light streaming across his room. A gentle smile curved his lips the moment he saw me.

"Hi," he said softly, like he'd been waiting for this exact moment.

My throat closed. "Hi."

His gaze flicked over me, taking in the steam behind me, the damp strands of hair escaping my bun. His smile lingered, warm and unhurried, like just seeing me was enough.

"How was the trip?" he asked, voice low, steady.

The simple question undid me. My eyes burned as I tried to find the words, but all that came out was a shaky laugh. "Long. Exhausting. Strange." I hesitated, then added in a whisper, "But seeing you makes it better."

Jonas's smile deepened, but there was something in his eyes too, something that looked like relief.

Jonas adjusted the phone in his hand, lying back against his pillow. "So... London, huh?" His voice was light, but his eyes studied me too carefully, like he was searching for cracks.

I sighed, sinking lower in the bubbles. "Yeah. London. It's... big. Fancy. My grandparents' house looks like a museum. Maya talks like she's had five cups of coffee."

That earned me a laugh, soft but real. "She sounds like trouble."

"She is," I admitted, a ghost of a smile on my lips. Then the smile slipped. "But at least she's... here. I don't know what I'd do if it was just me."

The silence that followed wasn't empty. It was heavy, thick with all the things I couldn't say. That I felt like I'd left pieces of myself back in the States. That every time I closed my eyes, I saw my father's face. That no matter how beautiful this city was, it wasn't home.

Jonas shifted slightly, propping himself up on an elbow. "Zara," he said gently, pulling me back from the spiral. "Talk to me."

"I can't," I whispered. My throat burned. "If I start... I don't think I'll stop."

His gaze softened. "Then don't stop."

Tears welled hot in my eyes. I shook my head, staring down at the foam in the tub. "I feel like I abandoned everything. My parents' house, my mom's garden, even—" My voice cracked. "Even him."

Jonas's jaw tightened, but he didn't interrupt.

"I hate that I had to leave. I hate that it was the only choice. And I hate that every time I think about my brother..." My voice faltered, the words breaking. "...I feel sick. And guilty. Like maybe if I'd fought harder, things would've been different."

"Zara." His tone cut sharp through my rambling, firm but not unkind. "Don't you dare blame yourself."

I looked up, startled.

He was staring at me with an intensity that made it hard to breathe. "You did what you had to do. What anyone would've done. None of this is on you."

I blinked at him, tears spilling freely now. "Then why does it feel like it is?"

Jonas's expression softened, the tension in his shoulders easing just enough. He sighed, running a hand through his messy curls. "Because you're you. You carry everything, even when you shouldn't. You think it's your job to hold the world together. But Zara..." His voice dropped lower, steadier. "It's okay to let someone else carry you, too."

Something in my chest cracked wide open.

For a long moment, neither of us spoke. I just stared at him, at the way he was looking at me, he poor not like I was broken, not like I was ruined, but like I was still me.

Finally, I whispered, "You always know what to say."

Jonas smiled faintly, though his eyes were still serious. "Nah. I just know you."