Unwritten Steps

Chapter 12: Inked Stories

Aurora sat cross-legged on her bed, a well-loved copy of The Lightning Thief resting in her lap. She had read the book so many times that the cover was faded, the spine barely holding on, but that was the point. The Percy Jackson series had always been her escape, a reminder of the little girl she used to be—curious, hopeful, and looking for a world bigger than the one she knew. For some reason, the series brought her child self peace, grounding her in a way nothing else could.

Her fingers brushed the tattoo on her forearm. The word Continue stretched elegantly across her skin, the semicolon standing tall as the "I," with a vine curling beneath it. It wasn't her first tattoo, but it was her most meaningful. She had gotten it during the darkest chapter of her life, when giving up felt like the only option. It symbolized everything she had fought through—her depression, the nights spent crying until she was numb, the mornings when just getting out of bed felt impossible.

Her first tattoo, though, was different. Hidden on her hip, the word Broken was inked in bold, raw letters. It had been her silent confession, a way to admit what she couldn't say out loud: that she felt shattered, unfixable, like her life had fallen apart before it had even begun. She hadn't shown it to many people, and she wasn't sure she ever would. But Continue? That tattoo was her hope, her promise to herself to keep going, no matter what.

Her phone buzzed beside her, pulling her from her thoughts.

Rachel: Showcase results tomorrow! You ready?

Aurora sighed, setting her book aside. She should be excited, but her chest felt tight. What if she didn't make it? What if she did? Either outcome felt terrifying.

Another buzz interrupted her spiraling thoughts.

Finn: You're reading again, aren't you?

A small smile tugged at her lips.

Aurora: What makes you think that?

Finn: Because I know you. Now come outside.

She frowned but grabbed her hoodie anyway, slipping it over her head as she padded toward the door. Finn always had a way of pulling her out of her head, though his plans were rarely predictable.

Finn was leaning against his truck when she stepped outside, his arms crossed and his tattoos catching the glow of the streetlamp. The sleeve on his arm was intricate, a blend of bold shapes and sharp details—a bat in mid-flight, a dagger cutting through roses, a butterfly perched delicately, and a scorpion curling its tail. Each tattoo seemed like a contradiction, but they fit him perfectly.

"What are you planning this time?" Aurora asked as she approached, crossing her arms.

Finn smirked. "Wouldn't you like to know? Get in."

She rolled her eyes but climbed into the truck. "You know, normal people just text their friends to hang out. They don't ambush them."

"And where's the fun in that?" Finn said, starting the engine.

The drive took them farther out of town than she expected. The city lights faded into the distance, replaced by the darkness of open fields and winding backroads. Aurora leaned her head against the window, watching the trees blur past.

"Are you going to tell me where we're going?"

Finn grinned. "Nope."

She groaned but didn't press him further.

When the truck finally came to a stop, Aurora realized they were at the edge of a lake. The moon hung low in the sky, its reflection rippling across the water.

"A lake? Really?" she asked, stepping out of the truck.

Finn shrugged, grabbing something from the bed of the truck. "Not just any lake. It's got skipping stones, no crowds, and—" He held up a flashlight and a small net. "Tadpoles."

Aurora raised an eyebrow. "Are you serious?"

"Come on," Finn said, his smirk widening. "Don't tell me you've never done this before."

"Of course I haven't," she said, following him reluctantly toward the water.

Finn handed her the flashlight, turning on his own as he crouched by the edge of the lake. Aurora watched as he scanned the shallow water, his movements careful and precise.

"Why are we doing this?" she asked, shining her light over the ripples.

"Because you're too serious," Finn said without looking up. "Sometimes you just need to do something ridiculous to remember that life isn't always about being perfect."

Aurora snorted. "And catching tadpoles is your idea of fixing my life?"

"Not fixing it. Just... reminding you that it's okay to let go once in a while."

She rolled her eyes but crouched beside him, the flashlight wobbling in her hand. For a while, they worked in silence, scanning the water and laughing when Finn's attempts to catch anything ended in splashes.

When he finally managed to scoop a small tadpole into the net, he held it up triumphantly. "See? Beginner's luck."

Aurora couldn't help but laugh, the sound echoing softly over the lake.

Finn turned to her, his expression softening. "There it is. I knew you could still laugh."

Her smile faded slightly as she looked away. "Sometimes it's hard to remember how."

"Yeah," Finn said quietly. "But it's still in you. Even when it doesn't feel like it."

Aurora stared at the rippling water, her fingers brushing over the flashlight. "Do you really think things can get better? Like... for people like us?"

Finn was silent for a moment before he set the net aside and sat back on the grass. "I don't know. But I think we owe it to ourselves to try."

Aurora sat beside him, the weight of his words settling over her. She wanted to believe him. She wanted to believe that the broken parts of her life could be pieced together into something whole.

Finn glanced at her, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "You know, you're not as broken as you think."

Aurora huffed a laugh, shaking her head. "You don't know that."

"Maybe not," he said, leaning back on his elbows. "But I believe it."

The words hung between them, quiet and steady. For the first time in a long time, Aurora felt a flicker of something she hadn't dared to name.

Hope.