HIDDEN REFLECTIONS

FOURTY-FIVE

CHAPTER FOURTY-FIVE

Dobby went quickly after dropping us off, disappearing like a fleeting shadow into the night. His absence didn't matter, though—I couldn't bring myself to care where we were. Everything around me blurred together, dull and indistinct. The only clarity came from the ache in my chest, raw and unrelenting, like an open wound.

"I went to the place," Mattheo says suddenly, his voice slicing through the silence. For once, it wasn't the kind of silence filled with screams—mine or someone else's—but even this quiet wasn't peaceful. His words vibrate in the air, dragging jagged memories to the surface. I almost flinch.

"This isn't the time," Theodore says under his breath, his tone calm but firm. His hand moves gently through my hair, over and over, like he's trying to smooth away the storm inside me. It's the only thing holding me together, like a thread keeping a torn seam from unraveling completely.

"Yeah, I think Theo's right," Enzo adds, his voice low but steady, like he's trying to keep the moment from shattering.

Mattheo doesn't back down. I don't look at him, but his frustration is palpable, hanging in the room like static. His voice tightens as he presses forward. "I need her to know I didn't abandon her."

The words feel like a sharp knock against a locked door, too heavy for me to ignore. Slowly, carefully, I lift my head. Theodore's presence grounds me, but my gaze shifts to Mattheo. My voice is brittle, just barely a whisper, but I force the words out.

"Were you there? At four sharp? Like we agreed?"

For a moment, his silence answers for him. But then he speaks, the words tumbling out too fast, tangled with guilt. "No. I was a little late."

"How late?" I ask, each syllable heavy, deliberate. My body feels too fragile, too thin, like paper about to tear. Theodore's hand rubs soothing circles on my back, but it's not enough to untangle the knot in my chest.

Mattheo falters. His voice shifts, a new layer of guilt rising, thick and cloying, like syrup spilling over his words. "Just a couple of minutes."

My chest tightens. The knot twists harder. My voice, trembling with a sharp edge of anger, escapes before I can stop it. "I waited for you. And if you had been five minutes late—just five minutes—everything would have been different."

Mattheo flinches. I see it in the way his shoulders tense, his jaw tightening like he's bracing himself. His voice cracks when he speaks again, quiet but frantic. "I wasn't that late. I just overslept."

The simplicity of the excuse feels obscene, cutting through the air like a knife. Overslept. The word lodges in my chest, too heavy to dislodge.

"Oversleeping is fine," I say, my voice rising, shaking with barely restrained fury. "It's fine when it's about school. Or work. Or something that doesn't matter." I pause, the silence swallowing the room. Then my voice snaps like a whip. "But not when it's your promise. Not when you said you'd be there. Not when you knew how dangerous it was for me to be there alone."

The weight of my words slams into the room, and the silence that follows is unbearable.

"I'm sorry," Mattheo whispers, his voice broken.

Tears sting at the corners of my eyes, hot and relentless, making the skin itch. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to will them away, but it's no use. I blink quickly, letting them fall into Theodore's shirt instead. I can't look at Mattheo. I can't handle the weight of his apology or the hollow space it leaves behind.

"I know," I whisper back, so softly it's almost inaudible.

"Let's give Leah some space," Enzo says gently, his tone cautious, like he's trying to navigate a minefield.