Chapter 20

365words2026-01-19 04:15

A shiver ran through me that had nothing to do with the room's temperature. The connection between us—this impossible shared memory across timelines—still defied explanation.

"How is this possible?" I asked. "How can you remember something that hasn't happened yet?"

"I don't know." Felix's honesty was refreshing in its simplicity. "I just know that when I saw you at that café, it was like recognizing someone I'd been searching for without knowing I was looking."

The alcohol still lingering in my system loosened my defenses. "I keep thinking I can do this—face them, destroy them—without breaking. But seeing them tonight..."

My voice cracked. Felix moved closer, his weight shifting the mattress.

"You don't have to be unbreakable, Lyra." His hand hovered near mine, not quite touching. "No one could go through what you have and remain unmarked."

A tear slipped down my cheek, then another. I brushed them away angrily. "I hate this. I hate feeling weak."

"Vulnerability isn't weakness." Felix's fingers finally found mine, warm and steady. "It's human."

Something inside me fractured at his touch—a dam breaking after holding back too much for too long. A sob tore from my throat, raw and painful. Felix didn't hesitate; he gathered me against his chest, arms encircling me as I finally allowed myself to grieve.

I cried for the baby I'd lost, for the future that had been stolen, for the woman I'd been before drowning—trusting, hopeful, alive. Felix held me through it all, one hand stroking my hair, his heartbeat steady beneath my ear.

"I've got you," he murmured against my temple. "You're safe."

Gradually, the storm of emotion subsided, leaving me drained but somehow lighter. I became acutely aware of our position—my body curled against his, his arms around me, the subtle scent of his skin mingling with expensive cologne.

I should have pulled away. Should have thanked him politely and reestablished boundaries. Instead, I lifted my face to his.

In the moonlight, Felix's eyes were dark pools, his expression a complex mixture of concern and something deeper, more primal. His gaze dropped to my lips, then back to my eyes, a silent question.

My answer was to close the distance between us.