Page 154 of Mason

Somehow, without asking for it, I’ve found a sisterhood.

Or maybe…

It foundme.

Mason has surroundedhimself with some of the best people I’ve ever met.

It surprises me, if I’m honest. A man like him—so guarded, so sharp-edged—I never would’ve guessed his circle would feel like a sanctuary. But Maxine and Mia?

They’re nothing like I expected.

They're fire and softness. Grit and grace.

Beautiful, grounded, real. The kind of women who’ve seen too much and somehow came out of it kinder instead of crueler.

Though… there’s something jittery beneath Maxine’s surface.

A barely-there twitch in her fingers.

A flash in her eyes when the room goes too quiet.

I recognize it. Because survivors have a frequency all their own.

And we hear each other even when no one else does.

We’re all curled up in Mason’s living room now, warm lights glowing overhead, the lingering smell of nachos in the air—cheese, spice, butter.

But even with the spread we laid out, it wasn’t enough.

The comfort food wasn’tcomfortingenough.

So we ordered pizza.

We needed the extra grease.

Something to soak up whatever feelings are still sitting in our stomachs like stones.

When the buzzer rings, the sound slices through the calm like a knife.

Mia sets her plate down with a soft clink and hops up, already moving toward the front of the house.

“That’s got to be the pizza,” she says over her shoulder. “Thank God! I’m famished!”

Maxine and I exchange a glance, but we don’t follow.

There’s something peaceful about this moment. About the silence that stretches between us without pressure to fill it.

For once, the quiet feels shared—safe.

But then?—

We hear voices.

Mia’s, first. Light. A little too bright.

Then something else. Lower. Masculine.

The tone not quite right.

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