I wake to a frozen dawn—the kind that carries no dreams, only blistering silence. My body refuses to move. My eyes sting. My stomach clenches, like I've cried in my sleep. When I finally rise, my legs feel heavy, each step its own decision. Just a few days have gone by since everything fell apart. Yet, my heart feels like it's starting to heal from wounds that have lingered for years.
Downstairs, Abigail is already eating. Dylan stirs pots in the kitchen. Pale light streams through the window. The cold outside clings to the glass the same way loneliness clings to me. I push my food around the plate, appetite gone. Even the scent of fried tomatoes—once comfort—burns my throat. My pulse quickens. My hands tremble as they reach for the fork.
And then—
"Wait, what? You… kissed Oliver?" Dylan's voice cracks. He nearly drops the pan, hot oil spattering across the stove. "I thought it was Jace who kissed you yesterday…"
Heat floods my face—his, too.
I expected a reaction—but not this. Not fury. Not the pain in his voice, sharp enough to reveal more than he meant to. For a flicker of a moment, I saw him differently. Not just as a friend. Someone who was hurt. And it confused me—not because I didn't understand, but because I didn't want to.
Shame smothered me like a suffocating blanket. My chest burned. I stared at my plate, half-empty but unbearably heavy.
"I'm sure it wasn't that bad…" Abigail tried, her voice soft as silk—but it couldn't soothe me. My mind kept drifting back to the last few days.
"I know it wasn't a real kiss," I whispered. "But when Oliver saved me—when he gave me CPR—it felt real." The memory twisted inside me. "And two days ago… Jace kissed me. I don't even think he meant it. It just happened. Spontaneous. Charged. He hasn't mentioned it since, like he's trying to erase it."
The words fell like confessions, fragile against the storm inside me.
Dylan's expression shifted, like I'd struck a nerve. His fists tightened. His lips pressed into a thin line. But underneath the anger, I caught it—disappointment. Maybe even heartbreak.
"I hate seeing you like this," he muttered. "You deserve better. Not just from them. From yourself."
Abigail reached for my shoulder. Her touch was warm and grounding. "And how do you feel about them?"
I sighed. The answer tore at me. "I already explained this to Dylan. Jace appeared in my first vision. At first, I tried to get close to him because I thought… maybe it meant something."
I remembered working on our art project and the way he stayed beside me without running. How safe it felt.
Abigail's eyes softened, brushing against some memory she hadn't shared. "I loved others too," she whispered. Her voice trembled. "I was sure one of them was the one. But the other… made me feel alive. And when I chose, I lost both of them. I'm still not sure I made the right choice."
Her gaze dropped, and she brushed her cheek as if erasing a tear too fragile to show. "It's confusing. You're not alone."
"But Oliver—he's your teacher," Dylan said sharply. He rinsed his hands, then turned back. "Every lesson, he tortures you. Pushes you. So yeah, I'm guessing that kiss was when he pulled you out of the water."
"I already said that," I muttered. I couldn't meet their eyes.
I set the cup down. A ripple shivered through the water inside. A breeze swept across the window, brushing my cheek. A stranger passed outside, glanced in, and kept walking. The world was unbothered. But I felt exposed.
"I don't know what to do," I admitted, my voice frayed. My heart felt like a string pulled too far. My nails pressed crescents into my skin, anchoring me back into my body.
I don't trust my feelings. I don't know the difference between being loved and being seen. I'm not playing with anyone's heart—I don't know how to face my own.
The silence pressed too heavily, so we carried it into the car.
The forest thinned into houses. Streets replaced trees. Exposure.
We sat together, three people—each with their own secrets.
Dylan parked, then turned to me. "Back to the question: Are you catching feelings for one of them? Or both?"
His voice was firm, but his eyes lingered. Worry. Warning. Something unsaid.
My chest ached. Who do I feel for? What will I lose when I make a decision? Maybe I'm not afraid of them. Maybe I'm afraid of myself.
And then I saw them.
Jace froze when our eyes met—his gaze searching, hungry for answers. Oliver's eyes locked on mine, too. Longer. As if begging me to understand something he couldn't put into words.
I stood between them. One looked at me with guilt. The other looked at me with hesitation. Neither stepped forward. Both waited for me.
My heart thundered like it does before battles.
Jace accepts me even when I'm at my breaking point. Oliver demands I find myself—even when I can't.
The problem isn't who I love. It's who I become with them.
"If you don't try, how will you ever know?" A voice whispered in my chest.
The bell rang.
I wasn't sure if I was running from them—or from myself.
The door opened. My heart closed.
I stepped into Oliver's class. The room was almost empty. Pale winter light spilled across the board. The scent of old books and damp wood lingered in the air.
"Have you been crying?" Oliver asked softly. He cupped my face in his hands, studying me. His palms radiated warmth. His gaze was fragile—like this was the only way he could speak what he dared not say.
"I don't like seeing you like this," he whispered. Simple words. But my heart trembled. He always knew how to reach me.
"You can't be the one who cares and then suddenly turn cold," I murmured. My throat was tight.
He didn't answer. His hands lowered, but his gaze held. Something in it begged me to believe—despite everything.
Silence stretched. Then he murmured, "Shall we begin?"
How could he be so calm when I felt like I was breaking?
I sat. The book lay open. The lesson began. But I wasn't here for spells.
This time, I came to learn something else. Not how to fight. Not how to fly. But how to feel. How to break up without disappearing.