Noah

By the time I finally made it home, the sky was already turning pale gray — that dead quiet hour before morning actually begins.

Jackson and I had spent half the night sitting in a booth at the diner off Route 17, nursing cold coffee and saying a lot without saying much. We talked around the fight, around Jessa, around everything that had happened. Neither of us really had answers, just exhaustion.

Now, walking through my front door, all I wanted was sleep — or silence.

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