Novels by Kelvin Edet

The town saw it earlier than me. It felt odd - change showing up on the outside well before you feel it within. Like a glance held just a beat past normal. Or saying hello like you actually meant it, not out of habit. How folks began seeing me, really seeing, after so long. I wasn't meaning to show up. Once things went down with Cole, I figured stuff would blow up - gossip spreading, awkward vibes, maybe even that old feeling of someone keeping an eye on me. But nope - it got real still… which somehow felt worse. Acceptance. Not for everyone. Yet genuine. Not blind faith - just honest truth. The next day, once it seemed over, I headed downtown with Lena. Sky hung light blue - washed clear from last night’s storm. Puddles showed pieces of shop windows, kind of cracked-like. Rain left a hint of damp tar, mixed with pine, floating around. “People are looking,” I murmured. Lena smiled. “They always have.” “No,” I said. “This is different.” She squeezed my hand. “That’s

I barely slept at all that night. It wasn't fear - not exactly, anyway. Not the sort that makes your heart pound or your fingers fumble for something sharp in empty air. Instead, it felt duller, denser. Like weight held under skin, slow and constant. A presence lingering behind ribs, one that sticks around no matter how well you've tucked yourself away. Lena lay next to me, body tilted a bit toward her own side, fingers touching my arm like she sensed I’d slip away without that hold. Through hours of dark, her breath kept steady. That calm? I wanted it for myself - yet wasn’t bitter about lacking it. Instead, it pushed me harder to keep hers safe. The ceiling just hung there in the dark, its lines and patches tracing every year I wasted believing I couldn’t be saved. Cole popped into my head again - not how he is today, cold and scheming, yet like he used to be, back when things held together. Back when standing by someone didn’t come with strings attached. Back when getting thr

The dark started fading, almost like it didn’t want to let go just yet. I woke up earlier than Lena this time. The space felt hazy, filled with pale bluish light from the coming day, darkness gently blurring every outline it covered. She breathed slow, quiet - not rushed or tense - soothing in a way I kept needing to confirm, like peace could vanish unless someone made sure it stayed. I lay there, eyes on how her chest moved up and down, a wisp of hair bent softly by her face. Her sleep held a kind of faith that stirred something quiet in me. Not tense - no walls up or muscles tight - just letting go, just peace. I rolled over slow, trying not to stir her. The ache in my ribs flared up just a bit, that familiar pull from the scar acting like a distant echo, yet somehow it didn't hit as hard - more like static than danger. For a second, I let my mind picture these kinds of mornings sticking around. That idea felt cozy - yet kind of scary too. Routine was about sticking around

The first thing I saw that day? The silence hit me right away. It’s not that shaky silence when noise creeps close, yet a heavier stillness - like something sinking deep into your body, whispering there's no one after you just now. Not a step nearby. Instead, zero shouts cutting through air. Nothing pulling old moments back up. Rather, just a soft drone of being alive while life rolls on without asking a thing. I stayed up way past bedtime, just watching the ceiling in Lena’s grandma’s spare room. Light slipped through the lacy drapes - gentle, quiet - casting sleepy shapes that shifted across the wall. My breathing was steady. Just that? Felt like winning. For ages, sunrise brought struggle. Getting up meant facing memories. The brain sprinted while the body lagged behind, preparing for blows that didn't land yet somehow loomed close. But now? No jolt of fear hit right away - just a dull throb, sorta like scar tissue waking slower than the rest. I sat up slow, dragging finger

Evan — First Person The sun rose reluctantly, pale and uncertain, casting a fragile light over the town and the edges of the forest. Yesterday’s shadows still lingered in my mind, in my body, as if the night itself had left its weight embedded in my bones. Every muscle, every nerve, every part of me screamed that we had survived, yes — but barely. The taste of adrenaline and fear still lingered on my tongue, a bitter reminder that the line we had drawn yesterday was temporary, fragile. Lena was already awake, as she always was, sitting on the edge of the bed with her knees drawn close to her chest, eyes tracing the morning light as it crept across the floor. She hadn’t slept well. Neither had I. But unlike me, she carried herself with an unnatural calm, almost serene — as if acknowledging the storm and choosing, deliberately, not to let it touch her entirely. I moved to her quietly, careful not to startle her. She didn’t look at me at first. She just exhaled slowly, a long, trembli

The woods felt like a breathing dark mass when we got to the open spot by the north hill. Night hung heavy on the trees - though not total blackness. Light from the moon slipped down in narrow icy strips, showing outlines, flickers of motion, also a pale flash off something metallic. Cole showed up with someone else. Just hanging around. Cool-headed. Sure of themselves. I ducked behind a toppled tree - Lena close, her breath steady while my pulse pounded along with it. One part of me yelled to stay still; another, shaped by old fights, pushed for moves ahead. Each thought tugged differently, sharp and urgent. “They think they’re in control,” I whispered. “They’re mistaken,” Lena said, her tone quiet yet steady. She reached for my hand. “We can handle it.” I gulped, gave a quick nod. Training done, plans set, every twist thought through - yet this wasn't practice anymore. This was happening. One slip? No room for that now. Cole moved ahead a bit, his shape clear despite the