chapter 75
JACE MARINO
The house was loud in that soft, aching way only a group of teenagers could manage after a night that had scraped them raw. It wasn't the chaotic kind of noise, the explosive kind that rattled walls but a gentler hum, a layered mix of relief and exhaustion.
Laughter rose and fell in fragments, overlapping in a way that sounded almost fragile, like if any one of them stopped laughing the whole room would collapse into silence. That warmth drifted up the stairs like steam rising off a pot left too long on the stove, something warm and alive and familiar.
For a second longer than I meant to I let myself stand there and listen to it.
