Page 56 of First Echo

I watched her from the corner of my eye, laughing at something Victoria said, her hand finding Sam's with practiced ease. It was the truth at the heart of all my careful distance, all my walls and deflections. Being nothing was clean, simple. Being almost something—almost friends, almost more—that was the dangerous territory, the liminal space where hope could grow and inevitably be crushed.

I'd learned the painful lesson that "almost" was worse than "nothing" could ever be.

So that's what I would give Madeline Hayes: nothing. No reaction, no emotion, no vulnerability. A perfect blank where once there might have been... something.

I turned my attention fully to Luca, to the group, to the warmth of the fire and the simple pleasure of conversation without complication. I laughed at the right moments, offered comments when appropriate, allowed myself to exist in this space of normal social interaction.

But part of me—the part that still felt the ghost of Madeline's skin beneath my fingertips, that remembered the look in her eyes when they met mine in the mirror—whispered that it might already be too late. That "nothing" might no longer be possible when it came to Madeline Hayes.

I silenced that voice, buried it beneath layers of practiced indifference, of protective distance. I'd gotten good at pretending over the years, at making my walls look like choices rather than defenses. I could pretend this too—that Madeline's presence across the room didn't affect me, that her words didn'tmatter, that the electricity between us was nothing more than static, meaningless and forgettable.

I'd rather be nothing to her than almost something.

Even if that meant being nothing to myself as well.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

MADELINE

I'm just giving you what you asked for."

Brooke's words hit me like a physical blow, each syllable precise and cutting in its quiet delivery. She didn't yell, didn't make a scene. She simply stated a fact and walked away, leaving me frozen by the refreshment table, my untouched cup of punch clenched in my suddenly cold fingers.

The worst part wasn't the words themselves. It was the look in her eyes when she said them—calm, resigned, a door closing. She meant it.

I watched her rejoin Luca and his friends, slipping easily back into their circle as if our exchange had been nothing but a minor interruption. She smiled at something he said, and the sight of it sent a sharp, unfamiliar pain through my chest. That smile wasn't for me. It was for him—for this random curly-haired snowboarder who'd appeared out of nowhere and somehow earned what I couldn't seem to claim no matter how hard I tried.

"Why does it feel like I'm the one being left, when I was the one who said I didn't want anything?" I muttered to my punch, the words bitter on my tongue.

I stood there a moment longer, watching as Brooke leaned in slightly to hear something Luca was saying, her profile illuminated by the firelight. The blue blouse she wore—a departure from her usual shapeless hoodies—caught the golden light, making her look softer somehow, more approachable. When had she started wearing clothes like that? And why didthe sight of it make my stomach twist with something that felt dangerously close to longing?

With a deep breath, I composed myself and returned to my friends. The smile I plastered on felt brittle, too tight across my face, but they didn't seem to notice. Victoria was in the middle of a dramatic retelling of some incident from the slopes, her hands gesturing wildly as Julian and Audrey laughed. Sam's arm slipped around my waist as I sat beside him, his touch warm and familiar and somehow not enough.

I laughed at something Victoria said, the sound hollow in my own ears. My hand found Sam's automatically, fingers interlacing with practiced ease. But my awareness remained fixed on Brooke across the room, on the space between us that suddenly felt both too vast and not vast enough.

We were fine. We were more than fine. That night at the bar, we'd talked for hours, sharing stories and laughing like we'd known each other forever. I'd seen a side of her I never knew existed—thoughtful, funny, surprisingly wise. And I'd let her see parts of me I rarely showed anyone else. It had felt... real. Like we were building something, even if I couldn't quite name what that something was.

Then I'd panicked. Run away. Told her I didn't want anything from her.

It was just my default setting. My protective instinct kicking in when things got too real, too close. I hadn't expected her to take it so literally, to shut down completely. I hadn't expected it to hurt this much when she did.

And now Brooke was ignoring me. Sitting with some guy. Laughing. The sight of it burned in a way I couldn't explain, couldn't justify. I had no claim on her, no right to care who she spent time with. I had Sam, my friends, my carefully constructed social life. Brooke Winters was just my temporary roommate, my chemistry tutor, the girl who'd punched my brother.

The girl whose absence suddenly felt like a wound I couldn't stop touching.

"Fine," I whispered to myself, the word lost in the ambient noise of the room. "If she wants space, she can watch what I do with it."

I straightened in my seat, a plan forming with crystal clarity. If Brooke thought she could dismiss me so easily, she was about to learn otherwise. Madeline Hayes didn't get dismissed. Madeline Hayes didn't get left behind.

"Let's go sit with Brooke," I announced abruptly, cutting through whatever conversation had been happening around me.

Victoria's eyebrows shot up toward her hairline. "What? Why?"

Julian snorted. "Yeah, because hanging out with the girl who punched me sounds like a great time."

I shrugged, aiming for casual indifference. "I'm bored. And it's weird sitting over here when they're clearly having more fun." The lie slipped out smoothly, hiding the chaos churning beneath my practiced smile.

Sam gave me a curious look. "Are you sure? I thought things were... tense between you two."

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