Marvis POV
The sun had barely risen when I found myself there again.
Same corner. Same street. Same shitty car.
Her car.
She hadn't moved.
It was the third morning I watched from across the road, pretending I wasn't the one who caused all this. That I hadn't driven her out with my own damn words.
She didn't know I was there. And maybe that was better.
She was always proud fiercely so. The kind of girl who'd bleed before asking for a bandage. But even from this distance, I could tell the edge in her was dulling. Her shoulders drooped now. Her steps were slower.
I shouldn't have let it get this far.
I followed her that morning.
She didn't go far just to the old cemetery on the west side. She parked near the fence, got out, and walked between the headstones like she'd done it a hundred times before.
Then she stopped. Two graves.
Even without the names, I knew who they belonged to.
I stayed back. Watched as she knelt down, brushing dust off the stone with her sleeve. Her lips moved. No sound. No tears. Just… stillness.
There was something sacred in the way she sat with her grief. Like the world didn't exist for a second. Like nothing could touch her.
Not even me.
I left flowers at the car before she returned.
I didn't expect her to know they were from me.
She never looked up. Just slid into the driver's seat and drove away.
But she took the flowers with her.
That meant something. I think.
Later that day, I went back to the warehouse. My sanctuary. My trap.
Everything was quiet except the hum of security monitors. One of them blinked. Camera five. Rear gate.
I frowned. She was there. Melody.
Standing at the edge of the lot, arms crossed, hoodie too big on her. Like she didn't belong anywhere anymore.
I didn't move. Not right away.
Then she turned. Not toward the door.
But toward the camera.
Right at it. Like she knew I was watching.
I opened the gate.
We didn't talk when she came inside.
She stood in the middle of the room, eyes scanning the space like it was unfamiliar now. Like being gone had changed it.
Or maybe we had changed.
I handed her a glass of water. She didn't say thanks. Just took it.
"Why are you here?" I asked.
Her gaze met mine. Steady. Cold.
"Because you owe me answers."
My throat tightened. She wasn't wrong.
But when I didn't speak, she looked away toward the couch, the shelf, anything but me.
"Where are you sleeping?" I asked.
She paused. "Does it matter?"
"It does to me."
"Not enough to stop you from throwing me out."
That hit.
I moved closer. Not touching, just enough for her to feel it. The silence between us stretched, full of every word we hadn't said.
"I didn't mean to hurt you," I murmured.
"You did."
"I know."
She finally looked at me.
Her eyes were tired. Her jaw set. But something flickered beneath it all something soft and bruised and guarded.
"I can't trust you," she whispered.
"I know," I said again.
"But I still came back."
Those words… they shattered something in me.
I wanted to say thank you.
I wanted to say stay.
Instead, I reached out, slow, hesitant then tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear.
She didn't pull away.
Not this time.