Shadowbound

Chapter 4

.

The door closed behind him with a soft click, and suddenly, the house was empty. Silent. Still. Unforgiving in its quiet. My fingers rose to my lips, lingering where his kiss had touched me, and finally, the dam broke. Tears fell freely, hot and silent, carving paths down my cheeks.

My chest ached in ways words could never reach. The weight of loss pressed down until every breath felt heavy, every heartbeat like it carried the memory of what I had lost. My parents—the anchors of my life, the ones who made the world feel safe—were gone. And Conrad… leaving just minutes ago, taking with him the warmth that had kept the edges of my grief from cutting too deep.

I curled into the sofa, letting my sobs shake me until exhaustion softened the sharpness inside. When I finally wiped my eyes, my gaze fell on something draped over the armrest.

A hoodie.

Conrad’s hoodie. The one he’d worn the night before, the one whose fabric still carried the faint, unique mix of his cologne and something unmistakably him. I held it close, burying my face in it, inhaling, letting the lingering scent wrap around me like a shield. For a moment, it was enough. A fragment of him still here, a tether in the void he had left behind.

After a while I pulled out my phone, scrolling through music until I found a playlist that felt safe, then started unpacking. Each box I opened felt like reclaiming a small piece of the world. Clothes folded neatly into drawers, books stacked on shelves, little keepsakes from my past finding new homes in my room. Every movement, every small act of organization, was a reminder that the house could be mine—not just a shell of what had been, but a space I could live in.

The quiet echoed differently here, softened by the music and the ritual of unpacking. It was strange, surreal even. At home, it had always been my mother who carried the light in the corners, who left little touches that made a house feel alive. Now, I had to be that light. My hands, my choices, my effort—it was all up to me.

Fifteen years old, and alone.

The thought hit like a cold wave. I paused in the center of the half-unpacked room, chest tight, staring at the unfamiliar walls. This wasn’t how life was supposed to be. Not yet. Not like this.

Tomorrow, I’d face Beacon Hills High. A new school, strangers’ faces, hallways I had yet to know. A start I hadn’t asked for, a challenge I wasn’t sure I could meet.

I used to crave laughter, the noise of people, the comfort of being seen. But now… I wanted silence. I wanted to blend into shadows, to keep myself small, to protect the fragile pieces of me still intact. I didn’t want anyone close enough to hurt me again.

And yet…

I hugged Conrad’s hoodie tighter around me, the fabric soft and familiar against my skin. A small, stubborn spark of hope bloomed in my chest. Maybe… just maybe… Beacon Hills could change me. Maybe it was meant to.

Maybe this new life, terrifying as it seemed, could teach me how to breathe again.

The sun had long dipped behind the horizon, leaving the house bathed in the soft glow of the porch light and the faint hum of distant traffic. Inside, the rooms were quiet—too quiet—but somehow safe, as if the walls themselves had agreed not to judge the grief that lingered in the air.

I sat cross-legged on my bed, Conrad’s hoodie still wrapped around me, and opened another box. Inside were the small things I hadn’t known if I’d want to keep: a stack of notebooks, my favorite pen set, a photo of my parents at the lake, a tiny ceramic elephant my mother had given me when I was seven. I ran my fingers over the items, each one a delicate thread tying me to who I had been—and who I was trying to become.

“I’ll be okay,” I whispered to the empty room, my voice low but steady. “I can do this. I have to.”

The hoodie smelled faintly of him, a reminder that someone cared enough to stay with me through the worst moments. I closed my eyes and inhaled deeply, letting the warmth seep into me.

A sudden thought made my chest twist—what if I failed? What if this new place, these new people, these new beginnings… weren’t enough? I hugged the hoodie tighter, wishing for a moment that Conrad was still here, that I could hear his voice telling me I’d survive.

And then, I imagined it.

His hazel eyes, soft and steady, looking at me with a patience I had never earned but had always been given. His voice, low and certain: “You’re stronger than you think, D bear. I’ve got you. Always.”

A small, almost imperceptible smile tugged at my lips. I let myself picture him sitting across from me, making one of his awkward jokes to ease the silence. Even in my imagination, it was comforting. Even in my imagination, I could feel safe.

I set up my small desk near the window, stacking the notebooks neatly, and left the photo of my parents leaning against the frame. It wasn’t much, but it was a beginning. A sign that I could reclaim parts of myself that grief had tried to steal.

Then I crawled under the soft comforter, still wearing Conrad’s hoodie like a shield, and hugged my knees to my chest. The darkness of the room felt less like a threat and more like a blanket, holding me close. I imagined Conrad beside me again, whispering that it was okay to be afraid, it was okay to be alone, because I wasn’t really alone—not with the memories, not with the people who loved me, not with the life I still had ahead of me.

I whispered to the empty room, to the hoodie, to the world: “Tomorrow… tomorrow I’ll try. I’ll be brave. For them. For me.”

And for the first time since the funeral, I believed I could.

The house was quiet, yes. But it didn’t feel empty anymore.

It felt like home.