Page 59 of Beneath the Desert Bloom
Too long. Warped. Like someone had dragged the horizon backward with both hands.
The Joshua trees stood motionless. But their stillness felt aggressive.
She leaned forward, squinting.
Then she saw him.
Far down the ridge, barely visible in the twin cones of her headlights.
Asher.
Watching.
Not moving. Not coming toward her.
Just there.
A fixed point on the edge of her escape. As if he’d always been there, shadow-wrapped and rooted in the heat shimmer, watching her pack, watching her panic, watching her fall apart.
She stared at him, heart thudding. Every cell in her body pulled toward him like a tide.
“No,” she whispered.
She slammed the car into park, flung the door open, and stepped out into the night.
He didn’t move.
She stalked forward anyway, fists clenched, obsidian stone burning in her pocket.
When she was close enough to see the glow of his eyes, she stopped.
“What is this?” she shouted.
“I’m leaving, you know. I didn’t sign up for this haunted desert shit. I didn’t ask to be claimed like a prize in someone’s fever dream.”
He didn’t speak. But something in his posture shifted. Like he was bracing. Or breaking.
“Oh, now you’re just going to stand there again?” she snapped. “You show up, you touch me, leave me half-feral. And then you pull the mute forest creature act like nothing happened?”
He flinched.
“You don’t understand,” he said, voice low and rough.
But then… silence again.
Like he’d slammed some ancient door inside himself.
She stepped closer, fists shaking.
“You don’t get to burn yourself into my skin and then ghost me like a fuckboy with moss for a spine.”
Still nothing.
Just those eyes. Watching.
And that made something in her snap.
“Say something. Do something. Don’t just watch me like I’m the one who’s dangerous.”
