Page 58 of First Echo

Brooke's eyes finally, finally met mine—direct and unflinching. "Someone honest," she said, her voice quiet butclear. "Someone who knows what they want and isn't afraid to admit it."

The room seemed to go silent, though I knew the others were still talking, still reacting. But all I could hear was the echo of her words, all I could see was the look in her eyes as she delivered them—challenging, hurt, but most devastatingly, disappointed.

"Ouch," Julian laughed, breaking the spell. "Sounds like someone has trust issues."

I managed a cold smile, though I felt like something vital had been severed inside me. Brooke looked away, her expression closing off again, and the moment was gone.

The game continued for another twenty minutes before gradually losing momentum. People began drifting off in small groups, heading back to their rooms for the night. Luca said something to Brooke about meeting up tomorrow for one last run before we all headed home, and I watched as she nodded, a small smile touching her lips.

I ignored the twist in my stomach, turning to Sam with a deliberately bright smile. "Ready to head back? I'm exhausted."

He nodded, but before we could leave, Julian pulled him aside, saying something about borrowing his phone charger. I found myself standing awkwardly alone as our group began to disperse, until suddenly, impossibly, Brooke was beside me—neither of us quite looking at the other, both apparently heading in the same direction.

We fell into step together, walking down the corridor that led to our room. The silence between us was a living thing, heavy with all the words we weren't saying. Our footsteps echoed on the polished floor, the sound strangely intimate in the empty hallway.

"So," I said finally, unable to bear it any longer. "This is your new thing? Getting cozy with snowboard boy?"

I cringed inwardly at how petty it sounded, how transparent. But I couldn't seem to stop myself from pushing, from prodding at the wound between us.

Brooke didn't look at me, her gaze fixed straight ahead. "Didn't know I needed your permission."

"You don't," I shot back, too quickly. "I just didn't peg you as the let's-sit-in-a-circle-and-laugh type."

She finally glanced at me, her expression cool and unreadable in the dim hallway lighting. "Didn't peg you as the jealous type."

The accusation hit like a slap. "I'm not," I insisted, the denial automatic even as something inside me whispered,Liar.

Brooke's smile was subtle and sharp, barely a curve of her lips. "If you say so."

I stopped walking for a second, thrown off balance by the quiet certainty in her voice. "What is that supposed to mean?"

She barely slowed, not even looking back at me. "Nothing. Just sounds like you're trying to convince yourself."

Anger flared, hot and bright—not at her, though I pretended it was, but at myself. At how easily she seemed to see through me when I barely understood what was happening in my own heart.

"God, you're annoying," I muttered, catching up to her in quick strides.

"Right back at you," she replied, the evenness of her tone only fueling my frustration.

We walked the rest of the way in silence, but it wasn't calm—it was charged, like static electricity waiting to spark. Every step felt like it was dragging us closer to something neither of us was prepared to name, to face.

We reached our door, and I fumbled with the key, suddenly clumsy with nerves. The lock stuck a little, as if the universe itself was reluctant to let us back in together. When it finally clicked open, we stepped into the warm, dim room and shut the door behind us.

I tossed my coat onto my bed with more force than necessary, the action releasing some of the tension coiled tight in my chest.

"What is your problem?" I demanded, turning to face her fully. "One minute you're nice, the next you're ignoring me, and now you're glued to some random guy like you've known him for years."

Brooke peeled off her jacket slowly, deliberately, her movements controlled in contrast to my building agitation. "We talked for maybe ten minutes," she said, hanging her jacket in the closet with careful precision. "But you've clearly been keeping track."

"Don't flatter yourself," I scoffed, crossing my arms over my chest, protective armor against the truth in her words.

"Wasn't trying to."

A beat of silence stretched between us. When Brooke spoke again, her voice was softer—but not kinder. It was the softness of a blade perfectly honed.

"You're the one who said you didn't want anything from me." Her eyes finally met mine, dark and too knowing. "Don't get pissed just because I took your word for it."

I opened my mouth to respond, but nothing came out. What could I say? That I hadn't meant it? That I didn't know what I wanted? That every time I thought I had figured out where Brooke Winters fit in my life, the ground shifted beneath me again?

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