Afterlight (Fanfiction) ✓

chapter thirty-nine

Jay

08:00pm.

The hour I had promised to come back for Chloe. I'd counted down the minutes, eager to bring her home, knowing she'd been waiting for me at Violet's. But when I tried reaching her, I was met with silence—a silence that stretched, deep and foreboding, until Violet's call confirmed my worst fears. Someone had sent Chloe a text pretending to be me. Now she was gone, and no one knew where.

Violet and Nick had rushed over to the house where she'd been staying, only to find it eerily quiet. The air felt still, untouched, as if the world had held its breath. The security system remained armed, untriggered, a fortress protecting only an empty shell. They couldn't get inside.

Where was she?

A knot of anxiety coiled in my stomach, heavy and suffocating, growing tighter with each passing second. Fear and fury twined in my veins, a quiet rage simmering beneath the surface, mingling with a sorrow so profound it felt like drowning. But I couldn't fall apart. Not now. I had to start somewhere.

Home. I had to go home, search for clues, check the cameras—anything to make sense of this. But the moment I stepped through the door, something shifted. The air carried an oppressive weight, pressing down on my chest like unseen hands. It wasn't just wrong; it was off. The kind of wrong that gnaws at your bones, whispers of things you don't want to see. The walls felt colder, and the silence was so deep it seemed alive, heavy with an unseen presence.

I'd already wasted time visiting Damien's fiancée's parents. They'd been perfectly fine—surprised, even cheerful to see me. They knew nothing. But here, in this house, the truth unfolded in a way I couldn't escape.

Blood. Everywhere.

The sight stopped me in my tracks, a visceral jolt slamming into my chest. My eyes darted wildly around the room, struggling to take in the scene. Dried blood streaked the floor in dark, accusing trails that led toward the living room. The metallic tang of it hung in the air, sharp and suffocating.

And then I saw it. Her knife. Chloe's knife, lying abandoned on the ground, its blade glinting in the dim light. The once-sharp edge was stained deep crimson. My breath hitched, caught somewhere between my throat and lungs, choking me.

"Chloe?" I whispered hoarsely, my voice barely audible.

It didn't make sense. No one could have broken in without tripping the security system. Yet here was the evidence—proof of something unthinkable. My mind raced, every thought colliding with another. My heart thundered in my chest as I followed the trail, dread building with each step.

This wasn't real. It couldn't be real. It had to be a nightmare. But then I saw her.

She was sitting on the floor in the living room, her small frame swallowed by a blanket that clung to her like a shield. The fabric was flimsy, stained, a poor barrier against the cold that seemed to emanate from her. Her skin was ashen, her lips cracked and pale. Blood was smeared across her arms, her hands—dried, dark, clinging to her like a ghost.

"Princess..." I choked out, the word breaking as it left my lips. I wanted to rush to her, to pull her into my arms and erase everything that had brought her to this moment. But when her gaze lifted to meet mine, her eyes—eyes I'd memorized every detail of—were unrecognizable.

Her eyes were hollow, wide with panic and fear, as if fixed on shadows only she could see. A void stared back at me, vast and consuming, and in that endless emptiness, I felt myself unravel. For a moment, I wondered if one could truly survive that look.

"Don't touch me." Her voice trembled, soft and fragile, like the crack of ice on a frozen lake.

Her words splintered something inside me. My hands fell to my sides, useless, as I froze in place. Her rejection hit me harder than I could have prepared for, an invisible weight crushing my chest. I raised my hands slowly, palms open, surrendering to the distance she was putting between us.