Page 22 of Fire and Silk
I thrash. My shoulder screams in protest. My feet leave the floor.
“I’ll stay here! I’ll be good, I’ll do whatever you want—please, don’t—”
Her voice is calm, almost fond. “It’s just something to help you sleep, darling. You’re safe.”
The sting of the needle pierces my neck.
My scream cracks. My limbs jerk once, twice—then slow.
Everything slows.
The floor tilts.
Her face blurs.
I reach for the edge of the table, but my hand doesn’t work.
My knees fold beneath me.
The lights bleed at the edges.
My last thought is a whisper:Don’t let them make me disappear.
And then—
Dark.
The world is quiet.
Not silent—just still. Heavy with the kind of quiet that feelschosen.
I open my eyes and I’m standing barefoot on a beach.
The sky above me is peach-blushed and endless. Not quite morning. Not quite dusk. The air smells like salt and sunlight, warm on my skin, soft against my lips.
There’s no one here. Just the tide humming against the shore and the fine gold sand beneath my toes.
And then—
I see them.
Three figures in the distance.
I blink. My throat tightens. My feet move before I can think.
“Mama?”
She’s there. Dressed in that pale lilac dress she loved, the one she wore to my first solo performance. Her hair’s swept up,her eyes gentle. She’s smiling at me like nothing in the world ever hurt her.
“Papa?” I call, louder now, stumbling through the sand.
He lifts a hand in a lazy wave, grinning, shirt half unbuttoned like always, the sleeves rolled carelessly up his arms. His skin glows gold in the low sun. My heart aches.
And—
My chest caves.
“Marco,” I whisper.
