HIDDEN REFLECTIONS

THIRTY-NINE

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

"Leave with me," I say to Mattheo, standing by the door to his room. The words feel like stones in my mouth, heavy and sinking, pulling me somewhere I can't fully grasp. The truth, raw and unfiltered, lies between us, thick as smoke.

He's on the bed, frowning as he looks up at me. A glimmer of doubt flickers in his eyes, shadowed by something darker, something I can't reach. "I don't know..." His words trail off, soft, barely a whisper in the quiet room.

I turn to him, desperate, my voice low, intimate, like a prayer offered in secret. "You don't want this, right? You don't actually want your father to succeed?" The question hangs in the air, vulnerable and naked, a mirror held up to the fractured pieces of us.

He swallows, his face twisting as if each word were a blade. He nods, but there's pain there—a silent resignation, as though voicing his dissent might crush something inside him beyond repair.

"Then come with me," I urge, my voice like a lifeline tossed in the dark.

"Where?" he asks, searching my eyes. There's a flicker of something there—hope, maybe, but fragile, like a flickering candle ready to go out.

"Does it matter?" I whisper, my gaze lingering on him, tracing the familiar curve of his jaw, the sharp line of his brow. I see him for who he is—cracked, bruised, yet achingly beautiful in his ruin.

Mattheo's eyes soften as he steps closer, leaving the safety of his bed behind. He crosses the distance between us, moving as though pulled by an unseen force, and stops just inches away, his fingers brushing the wooden doorframe. "What's your plan?" he murmurs, his voice threaded with worry, like he's holding something back, as if voicing it aloud might unravel him.

I smile, barely—a ghost of hope on my lips. "I need to talk to Theodore. Meet me by the back door at four a.m." The words are simple, but they feel like an unsteady bridge over a chasm we've both been too scared to cross.

He nods, his silence laced with unsaid fears. I turn to go, feeling the finality of the moment settle over us. But just as I reach for the handle, his hand catches my elbow, his touch gentle but unyielding, like the warmth of a fire in the dead of winter. "Are you sure you don't want me to come?" he whispers, his voice soft, filled with a concern that carves something raw into my chest.

I nod, offering a tired smile. "I'll be fine." The words taste hollow, as if saying them aloud might turn them true. "Four a.m., by the back door, yeah? Don't be late," I add, flicking his cheek in a feeble attempt to break the tension.

He sighs, rolling his eyes, but worry still clouds his gaze. "Be careful," he murmurs, a plea wrapped in a command.

"Always," I reply, though the word feels empty. And then, without looking back, I step out of his room, leaving the familiar warmth behind.

The corridor is a dark tunnel stretching endlessly, its walls painted in shadows that seem to pulse and breathe, closing in with each step I take. Everything feels heavy—thick air, heavy floorboards, the silence pressing in on me, so dense it feels like I could reach out and touch it. The moon filters in through a tiny window at the end, casting pale light on floating dust motes that drift lazily, suspended like ghosts of all the things I've tried to leave behind. Every step I take, the floor creaks beneath me, like the house is warning me, urging me to turn back. But I can't stop. Not now.

I reach Theodore's door, my hand gripping my wand with white-knuckled desperation. Every fear, every hurt, every question I'd buried now crawls to the surface, coiling around my heart like barbed wire. Without hesitating, I push the door open, stepping into the dim room, the air thick with the weight of words unsaid.