2026-11-04 23:03:49I open my eyes.
For once, I surface from sleep without fighting my way out of black water. No sudden gasp, no frantic search for something to hold on to. I simply wake, slowly and peacefully, and it takes me a moment to understand why that feels so unfamiliar.
It is the best sleep I have had in years.
Then I feel the arms around my neck.
Camille.
She is sitting on the edge of my bed, leaning over me, her arms wrapped tightly around my neck. When she pulls back to look at me, I see her swollen eyes and the tear tracks on her cheeks.
The relief that crosses her face is so immediate that I almost don't know what to do with it.
"You're awake."
Her voice trembles.
I look around, trying to piece together how I got here. The last thing I remember is the open doorway, the floor slipping away beneath me, and the darkness closing in.
I don't know how many hours have passed, but Camille looks as though she's spent every one of them worrying.
"I'm here," I manage.
She pulls me into another embrace, holding me tighter than before. I should feel uncomfortable. I should want space. Instead, I wrap an arm around her and let her hold me.
"I was worried," she whispers against my shoulder. "You lost consciousness before I got back with your medication. I came in and found you on the floor, and you wouldn't wake up."
She draws back, searching my face as if she needs to be certain I'm really there.
"I'm sorry, Dorian. I shouldn't have pushed you. I thought if I stayed beside you, it might be different. I thought you could face it with me there, but I shouldn't have..."
"Camille. Stop."
I lift my hand to her face. My fingers feel heavy, but I manage to brush a tear from her cheek with my thumb.
"Don't blame yourself."
"But you..."
"I said yes because I wanted to." I hold her gaze. "You didn't force me. I wanted to try."
Her lips part, but I don't let her turn my words into another reason to blame herself.
"I'm fine now," I tell her. "And I slept."
She glances at the bed, then back at me.
"Really?"
"Really."
A small, unsteady smile touches her mouth. It doesn't quite erase the worry in her eyes, but it softens something in her face.
My hand remains against her cheek.
Neither of us moves away.
I become aware of how close she is, of the warmth of her body beside mine and the way her gaze keeps returning to my mouth. When I look into her eyes, she doesn't pretend I haven't noticed.
Something shifts between us.
She leans closer, slowly enough for me to change my mind.
I don't.
Her lips meet mine.
The kiss is gentle at first, almost uncertain. Then I kiss her back, and whatever hesitation remains begins to fade. My hand settles at her waist, drawing her closer, while her fingers slip into my hair.
She kisses me again, deeper this time.
I have spent years keeping people away from me. Now I'm the one pulling her closer, unwilling to let the distance return.
Her hands travel over my back, and I feel her smile briefly against my mouth before she kisses me again. I hold her at the waist, my fingers tracing the curve of her side as she leans into me.
We part for a breath, our faces still close.
Neither of us speaks.
She brushes her lips against mine again, and I answer without hesitation. The kiss grows more urgent, our hands lingering, finding familiar places and discovering new ones. Every time we separate, even briefly, one of us closes the distance again.
For once, I am not thinking about what waits beyond my front door.
I'm thinking about Camille.
About the fact that she's here, that she wants me close, and that I want the same thing.
She shifts nearer, and I draw her against me. Her fingers curl behind my neck as our mouths meet again, and the rest of the world becomes distant enough to ignore.
Then my phone buzzes on the nightstand.
I ignore it.
Whoever it is can wait. Almost nobody has this number. Nathan, my editor, and one detective who has spent years looking at my parents' case without dismissing me outright.
The phone stops.
Camille kisses me again, and I forget about it.
Her hand moves along my back, drawing me closer. I respond by pulling her against me, and for a few precious moments, there is nothing else I want to pay attention to.
The phone buzzes again.
This time, I hesitate.
Camille notices. Our kiss slows, and she rests her forehead against mine, her breathing still uneven.
I reach for the phone.
I don't want to interrupt this. But the people who call me are few, and the ones who call twice usually have a reason.
I turn the screen towards me.
Detective Elias Mercer.
I stare at the name.
Mercer is the one officer who has taken my suspicions seriously enough to keep looking. He has never promised that I am right, but he has never dismissed the inconsistencies in my parents' case, either.
He doesn't call me without a reason.
And he certainly doesn't call twice.
Camille sees the name at the same moment I do.
Her expression changes.
Our lips separate.
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The Missing Page
Camille says the name again, more slowly this time, as though repeating it might make it mean something smaller.“Whitmore Global Holdings.”She turns to me.“Isn't that Nathan's family company?”I look down at the cover page and read the name again, the way you check the spelling of a word you already know, hoping the letters might rearrange themselves into something else.They do not.“It's more than his family's company,” I say. “The Whitmores weren't business contacts. They weren't people my parents happened to know. They were family. Not by blood, but by the other thing. The thing that's supposed to be harder to break.”I hear how my voice sounds, but I keep going.“My father and Nathan's father were close before either of us existed. My mother and Nathan's mother were just as close. Their friendship came first, long before any of us were born. And at some point, my father and Nathan's father started a company together.”I tap the name on the page.“This one. They founded it toge
The Case Before the Crash
Camille's hand closes over mine.She says nothing about the message at first. Her thumb moves once across my knuckles before she asks, quietly, “How much do you trust Nathan?”I do not answer.It is not that I have no answer. It is that I have two, and they refuse to exist in the same sentence.There is the Nathan who came when no one else did. The one who sat with me through the first year, who stayed when grief made me difficult to reach, who has remained the one unbroken line between me and the world for ten years. That Nathan is someone I would trust with anything.Then there are the last few days. The arrangement he made without asking me. The instructions he gave Camille to monitor my movements, even inside my own home. The questions about which rooms I enter and what I do behind closed doors.And now this message.Have you located any suspicious room?I read it again, searching for a harmless explanation. A concerned friend trying to understand something he does not know how to
The Evidence That Never Existed
I answer the phone.“Mercer.”“Dorian.” His voice is careful, as always, but something in it tells me this call is different. “I’ve got something. I don’t know what it means yet, so don’t jump to conclusions. But you should hear it from me.”Beside me, Camille goes still. Her shoulder remains against mine, but her attention has shifted entirely to the conversation.“Go on,” I say.“The traffic investigator who worked your parents’ accident. I finally tracked him down. He’s retired now, living out of state.” I hear the rustle of paper. “He remembers the night clearly. And he remembers a truck.”The word settles heavily in my chest.“He says he recorded it in his original report. The vehicle details and the markings on the side. He remembers standing on that road in the rain, writing everything down.”“And the report in the evidence box?”“It says he saw no truck.”For a moment, I cannot speak.“His own report?” I ask.“His name is on it. But what’s in the evidence box contradicts what
The Call Neither of Us Wanted
I open my eyes.For once, I surface from sleep without fighting my way out of black water. No sudden gasp, no frantic search for something to hold on to. I simply wake, slowly and peacefully, and it takes me a moment to understand why that feels so unfamiliar.It is the best sleep I have had in years.Then I feel the arms around my neck.Camille.She is sitting on the edge of my bed, leaning over me, her arms wrapped tightly around my neck. When she pulls back to look at me, I see her swollen eyes and the tear tracks on her cheeks.The relief that crosses her face is so immediate that I almost don't know what to do with it."You're awake."Her voice trembles.I look around, trying to piece together how I got here. The last thing I remember is the open doorway, the floor slipping away beneath me, and the darkness closing in.I don't know how many hours have passed, but Camille looks as though she's spent every one of them worrying."I'm here," I manage.She pulls me into another embrac
The Distance Between Us
“Yes,” I say.I don't know where the word comes from. It isn't belief. I have five years of evidence telling me exactly how this ends. Still, I cannot bring myself to refuse the only person trying to help me.So I say yes and watch Camille understand that I mean it.We walk to the front door together. It stands open, as it usually does now, because she comes and goes through it as though a door is a simple thing.The corridor beyond is quiet. The carpet, the elevator at the far end catching the hallway light. I have watched them for years from the safe side of this threshold, imagining what it might feel like to cross it.Camille takes my hand.Her palm is warm. I focus on that instead of the corridor, on the gentle pressure of her fingers around mine. She doesn't tell me everything will be fine or promise that nothing will happen.She simply stays beside me.“Whenever you're ready,” she says. “It's your choice.”I look at our hands and take the first step.My foot lands on the carpet
The Door I Never Opened
For a few seconds, neither of us moves.She is awake, and I am bent over her, with almost nothing separating her mouth from mine. I can feel her breath against my lips, and I know she can feel mine. The room has gone unnaturally still around the fact of it.Her eyes hold mine. I cannot read what is in them. I am not entirely sure what is in my own.Then we pull back at the same instant, both of us moving too quickly, as though the floor has tilted beneath us. I straighten on the bed. She sits back on her heels beside the chair she must have abandoned hours ago.“I'm sorry,” I say. “I was…”“You hadn't come out.”She speaks quickly, cutting across my unfinished sentence.“Since last night. Since we…” She gestures vaguely between us, referring to the argument without naming it. “You didn't come out, and you didn't eat. I know what the nights do to you, so I came to check on you. You were asleep, and I was going to leave, but then I just…”She stops. Her fingers turn over in her lap as s
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