CHAPTER THIRTY ONE: LATE NIGHT FINDS

NOVA POV

The week had stretched like a lifetime. Seven days of silence. Seven days of walking past Grant as if we were strangers. Seven days of curling into myself, pretending I didn’t care, when every bone in my body ached from the weight of his absence.

So tonight, instead of sleeping, I wrote. My journal has become my confessional, my graveyard, my punching bag. Ink spilling everything I can’t say out loud: the anxiety chewing at me, the anger ...