Page 127 of When the Storm Breaks
For a second, my mind betrays me—whispering something impossible.
Jules.
I picture her standing outside my door just like she used to—hair a wild mess, bare feet on the welcome mat. Showing up announced like it never mattered. Like she’d always be there.
The hope that surges through me is cruel. I hate it. I hate the way my chest opens with something that almost feels like relief… before reality crushes it.
She’s not out there.
She never will be.
The knocking stops suddenly.
Whoever it is, they’re leaving.
I push my blankets back, curiosity pulling me toward the door, my steps slow and cautious. Somehow, I feel both too early and too late.
Part of me is praying it’s Haiyden.
The other part is praying it’s not.
Because he can’t just disappear like that. He can’t drag me out to the middle of the woods, tear my world apart, tell me how much he’s suffering—then vanish.
This isn’t a game. This isn’t cat and mouse.
This is my life—and he’s making it a hell of a lot more confusing than it already is.
I shift to my toes, peering through the peephole—
—and my heart sinks.
ItisHaiyden. But what I’m looking at isn’t his face. All I can make out is the crown of his head, dark hair falling forward, shadowing everything. His shoulders are hunched. His posture wrecked. Like he’s carrying the weight of something unbearable.
For a second, I think he’s not going to look up at all. Maybe he’s just standing there—not waiting for me, but for something else.
Something I can’t give him.
But slowly, he lifts his head, and my heart shatters.
I’ve seen Haiyden unreadable. Composed. Void of expression.But this isn’t blank. It’s destroyed.
The pain in his eyes is raw—an open wound—and it twists something deep inside me.
I don’t know what will come from opening the door. I don’t know what he’ll say, if he’ll say anything at all.
But I can’t leave him standing out there like this. I don’t know how long he’s already been here. I don’t know how long he’d stay if I didn’t move first.
And if I’m being honest—no matter how mad I am, no matter how much hurt I still carry—I want to let him in.
My fingers twist around the doorknob. The soft click of the latch releasing sounds unnervingly loud in the quiet. I ease the door open—just a little at first. But when he lifts his head fully, I stop breathing.
He doesn’t speak. Just stares at me.
Through me.
“Haiyden?” I whisper.
His eyes are glassy, unfocused. Red-rimmed with each slow blink, like even that small movement hurts. He’s completely still, but there’s a subtle sway to his body, like the ground beneath him isn’t as solid as it should be.
