Page 77 of Hollow

I lean against the counter, crossing my arms. “Briar wants a date.”

That gets his attention. He turns, eyebrow raised. “A what?”

“A date. The three of us. Something normal people do.”

He snorts, turning back to the coffee. “We’re not normal people.”

“No shit.” I unwrap one of the muffins and break off a piece. “But she wants something that feels... I don’t know, less fucked up than what we’ve been doing.”

“Less fucked up than fucking on a grave or in alighthouse?” He pours hot water into the press, watching the grounds bloom. “Low bar.”

“Yeah, well.” I shrug, even though he can’t see it. “It’s not a bad idea.”

The silence stretches between us, filled only by the roar of waves outside and the ticking of the cheap clock on his wall. Flint presses the plunger down slowly. He’s always been like this—deliberate when he wants to be, chaotic when he doesn’t.

He pours coffee into two mugs, sliding one across the counter to me. “So we’re really doing this? The three of us?”

“Seems like it.” I wrap my hands around the mug, letting the heat seep into my palms. “Unless you’ve changed your mind.”

“Have you?” He leans against the opposite counter, only now looking at me directly.

“No.” The truth comes easy, surprising me. “I want this.”

Flint takes a sip of his coffee, watching me over the rim. “This isn’t gonna end well. You know that, right?”

“Probably not, but when has anything between us ended well?”

His laugh is short, harsh. “Fair fucking point.”

I break off another piece of muffin, rolling it between my fingers. “We should talk about it.”

“About what?”

“Italy.”

The word drops between us like a stone, heavywith all the things we’ve never said. His face closes off immediately, jaw tightening. “Ancient history.”

“Not to you.” I set down my mug harder than necessary. “Not to me either.”

“What’s there to say?” His shrug is too casual to be genuine. “You left. Didn’t tell me. Came back expecting everything to be the same. It wasn’t.”

“I had to go.”

“You had to run.” His voice turns sharp. “There’s a difference.”

“Erik was dead, Viktor was asking questions, and I... I couldn’t breathe here anymore.” I run a hand through my hair, frustrated. “You were so deep in everyone and everything, trying to forget what happened, and I just?—”

“I was trying to survive.” Anger flashes in his eyes. “You weren’t the only one fucked up by what happened.”

“I know that now.”

“But not then.” He puts down his mug then crosses his arms. “You left me to deal with the aftermath. With Viktor’s questions. With the nightmares.” His words crack slightly. “For three fucking months, Damiano. No word, no call, nothing. I thought you were dead. I thought maybe Viktor had figured it out, taken care of you somewhere and wasn’t telling anyone. Every time a body washed up on the shore, I was terrified it would be you.”

“Every. Damn. Time.” His voice breaks, raw with remembered pain. “I’d get a call about some body thetide brought in, and I’d have to go down to the shore, see if it was you. Do you have any idea what that was like? Looking at bloated corpses, wondering if I’d recognize what was left of your face?”

The fresh pain in his tone hits me like a punch to the gut. I’d never let myself think about what it must have been like for him during those months.

“And the worst part?” His words spill out now that the dam has broken. “I had no one to talk to. No one who knew the truth. You were all I had, Damiano. The only person who felt like... family.”

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