The winter was finally gasping its last breath.
The snow had turned to a muddy, hopeful slush, and for the first time in months, I could hear the sound of the creek behind the diner beginning to roar with the melt.
I was out back, throwing a bag of trash into the bin, when the sound of a heavy engine rumbled through the alley. I knew that sound.
It was deep, rhythmic, and sounded like home, or what home used to be.
Silas climbed out of his truck. He looked like he'd spent the last week living in the dirt. He was bearded, his skin weathered by the mountain air, and he smelled like pine needles and woodsmoke.
He looked at me, and for the first time, he didn't look like he was trying to solve a puzzle. He just looked like a man who had walked a long way to get back to the right place.
"I went up to the high cabin," he said, his voice a low vibration that seemed to settle in the soles of my feet. "Spent eight days hunting. Mostly just thinking."
"Did you catch anything?" I asked, leaning against the brick wall, crossing my arms over my chest. My fingers were still stiff, but the bandages were gone.
"Just myself," Silas said. He walked toward me, stopping just outside the reach of my shadow. "I made a mistake, Alina. A dozen of them. I let my own pride and my own fear of getting messy keep me from being the man you needed. I let that snake get in your head because I was too busy protecting my 'peace.'"
He reached out, his large, calloused hand hovering near mine. "I don't want peace if it means I have to live in a world where you're hurting. I want the mess. I want the crude jokes and the burnt coffee. I want you, Alina. All of you."
I looked at him, the steady, solid mountain. He was offering me the roots. He was offering me a life where I was protected, where I was loved, and where I could finally stop fighting every person I met.
"You're a stubborn prick, Silas," I whispered, my voice cracking.
"I know," he said, a ghost of a smile touching his lips.
I stepped forward, closing the distance, and let him pull me into his arms. He felt like warmth. He felt like safety. When he kissed me, it wasn't a claim or an assault, it was a promise. It was the kind of kiss that made you believe the world could actually be okay again.
"Come back to the house," he murmured against my hair. "Let's start over. No more gentlemen. No more sharks. Just us."
"Okay," I whispered. "Just us."
As he held me, pressing me against his broad chest, I closed my eyes. I wanted to feel the total, blissful relief I'd been chasing since the night of the blizzard. I wanted to be whole again.
But deep in the pit of my stomach, beneath the warmth of Silas's embrace, there was a cold, sharp ache that wouldn't go away.
Even as I leaned into Silas, I could still feel the phantom sensation of Julian's hands on my hips. I could still taste the dark, bitter wine of the penthouse. I thought about the gold keys I'd left on the table and the way Julian had looked at me before he walked out of the diner, the way he had seen the monster in me and loved it anyway.
I was back with the mountain. I was safe. I was home.
But I realized, with a terrifying, secret dread, that part of me was still forty floors up, trapped in a glass cage with a man who didn't want to save my soul, but simply wanted to share his own darkness with me.
Silas pulled back, looking at me with so much hope and tenderness it made my heart ache. "You okay, Alina?"
"Yeah," I lied, flashing him a witty smile that didn't quite reach my eyes. "I'm just thinking about how much I'm gonna hate your cooking."
Silas laughed, a deep, booming sound that filled the alley, and led me toward the truck. I climbed in, letting the door shut out the rest of the world.
I was going back to the house. I was going back to the peace. But as we drove away, I didn't look at the mountains. My eyes were fixed on the rearview mirror, watching the distant, glittering skyline of the city until it finally flickered and vanished into the gray horizon.
The fire was buried, but the coals were still hot. And I knew, somewhere in the darkest part of my heart, that the nightmare wasn't over. It was just waiting for the next time I decided to look at the moon.