VALERIE
There is a sound grief makes.
It’s not a scream.
It’s not a sob.
It’s silence—raw and suffocating.
It curls into your lungs and coils tight like a serpent around your heart. It steals the words before they reach your tongue, and swallows the light before it can reach your eyes.
I hadn’t spoken in days.
The world moved on around me. I heard the castle breathe—quiet footfalls, distant voices, the clatter of armor, the ever-present wind in the high towers. But none of it touched me. I was locked inside my own ribs.
No one came in.
Not at first.
Then Jason did.
He didn’t speak right away. Just sat beside me on the edge of the bed, the mattress shifting slightly beneath his weight. His fingers hovered near mine, hesitant. “I would’ve taken the pain,” he said. “All of it. If i
