The cold air outside Marcus’s building hit me like a slap, shocking me out of the emotional quicksand of his living room. I took a deep, shuddering breath, the crisp December air filling my lungs, scouring some of the heaviness away.
It was over. The confrontation. The truth was laid bare. Marcus knew. He knew.
The relief was immediate and profound, a physical unclenching of muscles I hadn’t realized were taut. But it was followed instantly by a wave of staggering exhaustion. The sprint of emotions—from the locket’s revelation to the letter’s devastation to the brutal showdown with my brother—had left me hollowed out.
I stood on the sidewalk, people in festive coats brushing past, their laughter and shopping bags a stark contrast to the silent war that had just ended inside. I felt unte
