Page 139 of When the Storm Breaks

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I run.

I don’t know if it’s forward, backward, or in circles—but I run.

My pulse hammers in my ears. My breath splinters.

The ground shifts beneath—dirt, metal, sand—each change sudden, jarring, electric against my skin.

I can’t keep up. I can’t catch my breath. I can’t—

Then, suddenly—

The forest breaks open. A clearing.

For a second, I think I recognize it… but it slips away before I can catch it.

My knees buckle. Exhaustion crashes over me like a weight—like an anchor. I drop to the ground, trembling.

I have to stop running.

Lifting my head, I force out one last plea. One last desperate call.

“Haiyden…”

Silence. Then—an echo.

Distant. Distorted. My own voice thrown back at me. Mocking.Empty.

I reach for it. For something. For anything.

But my fingers close around nothing.

I’m too late.

I jolt awake, body tense, the remnants of my dream still clinging to me. It’s like this every morning now. The panic doesn’t fade—it settles. Deep. Heavy. Unmoving.

My breath is too loud in the quiet. The sheets cling to my damp skin.

I blink hard, waiting for the world to shift again.

It doesn’t. But the feeling stays.

I roll onto my side, eyes settling on the empty space beside me. The absence of him is physical.

Soft morning light filters in through the window, but I don’t move. I just lie there—afraid to rise. Afraid to acknowledge the ache in my chest that never really leaves.

But eventually, I do.

Because it’s too quiet. And right now, I’d welcome any kind of noise.

We don’t speak for another four days, Haiyden and me.

On the first day, I fumble. I move through my routine without really being present. My hands shake as I make breakfast. I burn the toast. I barely taste it.

I pour coffee. I drink it. I try to wake up, try to shake this feeling—but everything feels mechanical.

I shower. I brush my teeth. I brush my hair. I take care of myself.

I exist.

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