Page 78 of Begin Again

The mug slips from her fingers, ceramic shattering against the wood of the porch. Hot tea spills across the worn planks, seeping into the cracks, but she doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink.

It’s like time stops.

And in the silence that follows, the truth settles between us.

This bottle isn’t just a relic of the past.

It’s a question.

And we’re about to find out the answer.

21

Theo

Orion is the first to move. He steps back inside, returning shortly with a broom and dustpan. He doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t make a snide remark, or brush off the moment like he usually would. Instead, he crouches down, carefully sweeping the shards into the dustpan, his movements deliberate and patient.

Mo is still frozen in place, her bare feet inches from the broken ceramic. She doesn’t seem to notice—her wide eyes are locked on the bottle like it’s a ghost.

I shift uncomfortably, my fingers tightening around the cool metal. She looks like she’s somewhere else entirely, somewhere distant.

Orion sighs, and in a move that stuns everyone, he sets the broom and dustpan aside and reaches for her.

“Come here, Firefly,” he murmurs, his voice softer than I’ve ever heard it.

She blinks like she’s coming back to herself, but before she can react, he slips an arm around her waist and lifts her off the ground like she weighs nothing. She lets out a quiet sound of surprise, hands pressing lightly against his shoulders, but she doesn’t fight him.

“Orion—”

“Just hold still,” he mutters, carrying her a few steps back, away from the shards, before setting her down gently. His hands linger for a moment, steadying her. “You could’ve cut yourself.” His tone is gruff, but there’s no real bite to it. More like concern wrapped in rough edges. His fingers brush against her long waves, smoothing them absentmindedly before he pulls away.

Mo stares up at him, an unreadable expression passing through her expression. Then she exhales and nods. “Thanks.”

Orion just gives a small nod in return before crouching back down to finish sweeping.

Selene and I exchange glances, our expressions mirroring the same unspoken thought: Who the hell is this Orion, and what has he done with the real one?

It’s strange, seeing him like this.

Not that I know him enough to think he is incapable of being soft, but this—this quiet, effortless tenderness—isn’t something I’ve seen from him before. Not toward anyone.

The moment lingers, strange and delicate, before reality crashes back in.

I grip the bottle a little tighter.

We have bigger things to deal with.

Following Mo inside Selene and I catch each other’s wide eyes again, neither of us says anything. It’s not the time to unpack whatever the hell just happened. That’s a conversation for later.

For now, we have a much larger problem sitting in the palm of my hand.

I’m still clutching the bottle, my knuckles white around the metal. It doesn’t belong in the present—it belongs to a memory. A thousand memories. And yet, it’s here, solid and real, proof we can’t ignore.

Orion mutters under his breath as he strides around Mo, yanking out a chair and sitting down heavily. He doesn’t even try to act casual—I can see the tension in his jaw, the flicker of unease in his expression. His eyes flick to the bottle.

Then, without hesitation, he pulls Mo down into his lap.

She lets out an undignified squeak, stiffening for a moment before sighing and giving up.

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