That night, sleep did not come. It never really did anymore. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw flames, and the sound of him calling my name from somewhere I couldn’t reach.
He was here now. Breathing. Real. However, I was still afraid that he would disappear once more if I blinked for too long.
I watched the city lights go out to dawn while sitting on the floor close to the window with my knees pulled to my chest. It's the kind of light that doesn't warm anything—pale and washed out.
Damiano was also still awake. He was moving slowly and steadily, checking the locks, loading a gun, and lighting a cigarette—which he didn't even smoke—as I could hear. He simply held it between his fingers as though the burn would keep him grounded.
“Can’t sleep?” he asked without turning.
I didn’t answ
