Page 96 of Hidden Echoes

“No pictures,” I promise, raising my hands in a peace sign. “Just memories.”

He sighs again, but this time, it’s different. More resigned.

Once I’m done, I apply the mask to myself, much less carefully than I did to him, and then plop back down on the couch. I rest my chin on my hand, watching him blink a few times, getting used to the drying clay.

He glances at me out of the corner of his eye. “What now?”

“Now we wait twenty minutes.”

Silence.

Then, with a dramatic sigh, he leans back, picks up the remote, and dryly says, “Unpause.”

I burst out laughing and rest my head on his shoulder, satisfied. He pretends not to like it, but he doesn’t pull away either.

The warmth of his body against mine is comforting, and for a moment, I just sit there, savoring the sensation. The episode continues, but my attention is no longer on the screen. I know Zane pretends not to care, but the silence between us is different this time. It’s heavy, as if we’re waiting for something.

My breathing slows, and I notice his does too. His fingers, which had been relaxed on his leg, flex subtly as if they want to move. My heart jumps, and suddenly I’m acutely aware of every inch of space between us.

I slide my head a little further onto his shoulder and glance up at his face. The clay is already starting to dry, making his skin feel stiff, but I can see the tension in his jaw, the way he’s trying to avoid looking at me.

Then he does look.

And it’s different from before.

His eyes lock with mine, dark and unreadable, and for a moment, it feels like time slows. My chest tightens, and I realize I’ve been holding my breath. His lips part slightly, as if he’s about to say something, but he doesn’t speak. He just stares.

I move without thinking, turning slightly toward him, and his hand finally relents, sliding softly over my leg, hesitant but there. My heart beats too fast. Everything feels like it’s about to—

And then, exhaustion hits me like a wave.

It’s not a normal sleep. It’s a heavy, inevitable shutdown. My eyes blink slower than they should, my head feels heavier on his shoulder. I try to take a deep breath, fight it off, but it’s useless. My body goes limp, and consciousness slips away like sand through my fingers.

I hear Zane murmur my name, distant at first, but then closer, filled with concern.

“Mia?”

I want to answer. I want to reassure him, tell him that this happens sometimes, but my mouth can’t keep up with my brain. My body gives way, sliding further against him, and a second later, I lose all control.

The world fades away.

CHAPTER 22

MIA

Narcolepsy is a bitch.

I hate how it sneaks up on me at the worst moments, how it takes away time I’ll never get back.

I wanted to explore things with Zane—figure out what’s really between us.

Maybe I’ll try again today. Maybe I’ll just let it go.

What if I hate sex with him, the way I’ve hated it with everyone before?

It was never about fun for me.

It was about survival. About getting through whatever circumstance I was trapped in at the time.

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