Elias stumbled back a step, as if the words themselves had struck him.
He caught himself against the wall, fingers digging into the peeling paint, heart hammering so violently it was almost a roar in his ears.
He didn't want to hear more. He couldn't.
Not because he didn't care. Because he cared too much.
Because he wasn't ready to face the truth he had been running from since the moment Mira had smiled at him across that brutal, glittering ballroom.
The truth was this:
He was already falling. He had already fallen.
And if he let himself fall any harder, if he let himself believe in a future that didn't exist...
He would never survive losing her.
Not intact. Not the way he'd survived everything else.
He turned blindly, stumbling back into the main room where the faint golden light still clung to the walls.
The kids' laughter floated on the air like fragile glass — too soft, too innocent for what was breaking open inside him. Mikey clapped his hands at his crumbling block tower. Sam frowned thoughtfully over his chess pieces. Rosie turned another page, her small fingers careful, reverent.
Life carried on, oblivious to the slow, silent unraveling happening just a few feet away.
Elias dropped into the battered armchair like a puppet with its strings cut. He raked his hands through his hair, pressing the heels of his palms against his eyes until colors bloomed behind his lids.
Outside, the world had darkened.
The last bruised streaks of sunset had faded into a heavy purple, and the first stars struggled through the mist above the city.
Borrowed hours. Every second he spent breathing next to her was one second closer to losing her.
And he — he was helpless against it. Helpless against her.
Against the way she laughed like she wasn't afraid to be hurt. Against the way she looked at him like he was already worth the breaking. He was afraid, and furious, and aching all at once. Because for the first time in his life, Elias Albrecht had found something real.
Something messy. Something alive.
And he was going to lose it.
He sat there, drowning in the ache, long after Mira reappeared — her face bright, her steps careless, as if she could outrun the clock chasing her. She dropped onto the couch, flopping sideways like a ragdoll. She smiled at him — wide, wild, reckless.
And even knowing everything he knew now, Elias smiled back.
Because what else was there to do but love her anyway? What else was there to do but stay?
Even if staying meant breaking. Even if loving her meant bleeding.
He would take whatever time he was given. He would take every borrowed second.
Because she was worth it.
Every laugh. Every breath. Every goddamned moment.
Even if it shattered him in the end. Especially if it shattered him.
****
The night thickened around Hope Haven.
Inside the battered walls, life carried on — the thrum of children's laughter in the background, the clang of dishes from Mrs. Carter cleaning up the kitchen, the soft shuffle of socks on old wood.
But for Elias, time seemed to slow, thick and syrupy, trapping him inside the weight of what he had just heard.
Borrowed hours. Running out.
The words curled around his ribs like iron vines, squeezing until he could hardly draw breath.He sat frozen in the lumpy armchair, the tic-tac-toe game abandoned between him and Mira.
She didn't seem to notice the way his hand trembled slightly as he reached for a crumpled napkin. Didn't see the way he kept clenching and unclenching his jaw. Or maybe she did. Maybe she just pretended not to. Because pretending was easier. Pretending was mercy.
Mira stretched out on the couch, arms thrown lazily over her head, bare feet dangling off the edge, her body humming with some quiet, reckless energy. She smiled at him — small, tired, defiant.
And Elias realized, with a sharp twist of his gut, that he was falling in love with her.
That somewhere between her teasing and her silences, her chaos and her kindness, he had crossed a line he couldn't uncross.
And he was terrified. Terrified because it was too soon. Terrified because it was too late. Terrified because he could already feel the clock ticking louder inside his chest — a countdown he hadn't started but would have to finish.
He dragged a hand through his hair, staring at her like he could memorize her into permanence.
The curve of her smile. The stubborn line of her jaw. The way her thumb absently traced circles against the spine of the sketchbook still lying next to her.
Details he could hold onto when memory was all he had left.
"Elias?" Mira's voice was soft, almost uncertain.
"You okay?"
He swallowed hard. Managed a crooked smile.
"Yeah," he said.
"Just... tired."
Mira studied him for a beat longer than necessary. Like she could feel the crack running through him but was too kind to call it out.
She nudged his knee lightly with her foot.
"Welcome to the club," she said, smirking.
And somehow, that simple, stupid joke broke him further. He laughed — a rough, broken sound — and she grinned wider, victorious.
For a little while, they let it be easy again. They let it be small and stupid and safe.
But when the kids drifted back from outside, cheeks red from the cold, soccer ball bouncing between them, Elias caught Mrs. Carter's eye from across the room.
She was wiping her hands on a dish towel, face lined with exhaustion. She gave him a look — heavy, knowing — and tilted her head slightly toward the hallway.
A silent invitation. A silent warning.
Elias hesitated.
Then, with a muttered excuse to Mira, he pushed himself up from the chair and followed Mrs. Carter into the narrow hallway lined with crooked picture frames and scuffed floors. he kitchen was quieter now, the smell of apple crisp still lingering in the warm air.
Mrs. Carter leaned against the counter, arms folded across her chest, watching him with that same keen, unflinching gaze.
"You heard, didn't you?" she said without preamble.
Elias stiffened.
Said nothing. He didn't have to.
Mrs. Carter sighed, scrubbing a hand across her face.
"She doesn't want your pity," she said.
"Don't you dare look at her like she's already gone."
"I wouldn't," Elias said quietly, but his throat felt tight, the words tasting like lies even as he spoke them.
Mrs. Carter narrowed her eyes.
"You better not," she said.
"Because Mira... she's not here for long, sure. But she's here now. And she's trying like hell to live every minute she's got left."
She straightened, pushing away from the counter.
"And she's not looking for someone to save her," she said.
"She's looking for someone who's brave enough to stay."
The words hit Elias like a punch. He wanted to argue. Wanted to tell her he wasn't the kind of man who stayed. Wasn't the kind who could stay. That he was too broken, too selfish, too afraid. But the truth, cold and terrible, rooted him to the floor:
He wanted to stay.
He wanted it more than he had ever wanted anything. Even if it hurt. Even if it broke him. Especially if it broke him.
Mrs. Carter's face softened slightly, as if she could see all of it inside him — all the cracks and battles he was fighting without a word. She reached out and squeezed his shoulder briefly.
"You're not the first man to fall in love with a girl who's already leaving," she said softly.
"And you won't be the last."
Elias closed his eyes, breathing through the ache in his chest.
"I don't know how to do this," he admitted, voice raw.
"None of us do," she said simply.
"That's the trick. You just... do it anyway."
She gave him a sad smile.
"Borrowed time, Mr. Albrecht," she said.
"But it's still time."
Elias opened his eyes and nodded. A rough, broken nod.
Mrs. Carter patted his shoulder once, brisk and no-nonsense, then turned back to the sink.
Conversation over. Lesson delivered.
Elias stood there for a long moment, staring at the cracked tile floor.
Trying to steady himself. Trying to breathe.
When he finally made his way back to the main room, the kids had gathered around Mira, who was dramatically reading aloud from a picture book Liam had dug up from the library. Her voice was animated, her hands flying in wild gestures, and the children howled with laughter at every ridiculous twist in the story.
She glanced up and caught him standing there.
Smiled. Bright. Fierce. Alive.
And Elias — broken, terrified, hopeless, then he smiled back.
Because even though the clock was ticking faster than he wanted it to.
Even though every second hurt a little more than the last.
He knew. He knew he wasn't going anywhere.
Not now. Not ever.