Trauma changes people. trauma changes everyone.
All rights for the 9-1-1 cast and all rights to most of the plot goes to ABC. New plots and new characters belong to me 🫶
Book continues in Apparition! 🫶
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LYDIA
The clock on Miles' nightstand reads 2:43 a.m., but I'm wide awake. My body feels like it's buzzing with some kind of nervous energy I can't shake. I've been trying to focus on the steady rhythm of Miles' breathing-soft, even, completely at peace-but it's not working. His hand is interlocked with mine, his warmth anchoring me, yet I feel like I'm adrift in a storm.
I had my head resting on his shoulder earlier, but the weight in my chest got too heavy, and I moved. Now I'm sitting upright, staring at the ceiling, trying to will away the nausea creeping up my throat.
I glance at Miles, his face slack and calm in sleep, and feel a pang of guilt. He's been doing so much for me-too much, probably. The least I can do is let him rest. Slowly, carefully, I untangle my fingers from his and slide out of bed. My bare feet hit the cold floor, sending a shiver up my spine.
The house is silent as I make my way down the hallway. The quiet feels oppressive, wrapping around me like a heavy blanket. My stomach churns, and I press a hand to it, willing myself to stay calm.
Then I hear it.
"Lydia."
It's soft, almost a whisper, but it makes every hair on the back of my neck stand on end. I freeze, my heart pounding so hard I can hear it in my ears.
"Lydia," the voice calls again, clearer this time, coming from downstairs.
I swallow hard, my throat dry. I tell myself it's nothing-just my mind playing tricks on me because I haven't slept in days. But my feet are already moving, carrying me toward the stairs.
The hallway feels longer than it should, the shadows stretching and twisting in ways that make my skin crawl. I grip the banister tightly as I start down the stairs, my pulse racing.
"Who's there?" I whisper, my voice barely audible.
No answer.
I take another step, and then another. The voice doesn't call out again, but the silence feels heavier, thicker. My head feels foggy, like I'm moving through a dream-or a nightmare.
Then it happens.
My foot slips on something, and before I can even register what's happening, I'm falling. My stomach lurches as the world tilts, and I reach out to grab the banister, but it's too late.
Pain explodes through my body as I hit the stairs, tumbling down in a blur of disjointed sounds-thuds, cracks, my own sharp intake of breath.
