Chapter 2
She couldn't hear my voice or see me.
She was stubbornly living in a world that still had me in it, using her failing body and fading memory to protect a version of me that no longer existed.
Watching the blue flame dance on the stove and the steam begin to rise from the pot, my consciousness was pulled back into the warmth of the past.
I remembered her staying up all night when I was sick as a child. I remembered her scrimping and saving to put me through school, always giving me the best of everything. I remembered after I joined the organization, how she'd always look like she had something to say before I left on a mission, but it would always end with just, "Come back soon, Stella. I will wait to eat with you."
But the last time I left, I never came back.
Dylan, how could you ever think I would abandon my grandmother to go off and "enjoy myself"?
How could you think I would betray everything we swore to protect with our lives?
We fought side by side. We watched each other's backs. Was the understanding and trust you had for me really that fragile?
Anger and bitterness grew inside me, only to be quickly drowned by a deeper sense of powerlessness.
Arguing, explaining... these were luxuries for the dead.
The only thing I could "do" now is stay with Grandma, watch over her, pray for her safety, pray that time treats her gently.
Yet even this humble wish seemed about to be shattered.
Dylan didn't believe I was dead.
A few days later, near dusk. The setting sun bled across the sky, painting the shabby gate of our small courtyard with an ominous red light.
The roar of an engine grew louder, then cut off abruptly right outside.
Grandma, dozing in her wicker chair, jolted awake and looked up, confused.
Hovering above the courtyard, I saw the familiar black SUV, and my heart stopped "beating."
The car door opened. A long leg encased in black tactical pants stepped out first, followed by a tall, lean, and powerful frame. Dylan.
Three years had changed him. His features were sharper, colder, etched with an unyielding frost and a simmering aggression. The eyes that once held starlight and warmth were now only sharp, hawk-like, blazing with suppressed rage.
An aura of "stay away" radiated from him as he strode toward the courtyard.
The woman who stepped out gracefully behind him, however, made my very spirit shudder, Willow.
She was wearing an elegant white dress, her face a perfect mask of concern tinged with a barely perceptible air of superiority. Why was she here? With Dylan?
A powerful sense of dread seized me the moment I saw her.
Grandma seemed to recognize Dylan, too. Gripping the arms of her wicker chair, she struggled to stand, her face holding a sliver of fragile hope, perhaps thinking he'd come to visit.
But his first words shattered any such illusion.
He stood at the gate, his gaze like an icy searchlight sweeping every corner of the yard before settling on Grandma's face. His voice was devoid of all warmth.
"Where's Stella? Tell her to come out."
Grandma was stunned, her mouth opening but no sound coming out.
Willow had already glided forward, gently looping her arm through Dylan's. Her voice was soft, but it slithered into my ears like a serpent's tongue.
"Dylan, don't be like this. You'll frighten her. Stella... maybe she had her reasons? Even though... even though what happened to Maverick and the others was so terrible... Perhaps Stella is living well abroad now? We... we were friends, after all."
She said "friends," but her tone was loaded with implication, designed to fuel the fire.
"Reasons?" Dylan let out a cold laugh, his eyes turning to ice. "Her reason was trading her friends' lives for wealth and comfort because she was a coward."
"No. That's not true," I screamed soundlessly, rushing right up to him, waving my arms uselessly. "Dylan, shut up. Listen to Grandma. I didn't."
But my cries were met with utter silence.
Grandma was trembling with anger from his harsh words and Willow's seemingly gentle but utterly poisonous additions. She shook her head fiercely, tears welling up. Her voice was unclear but unshakably firm. "You're lying. Stella isn't like that. She's dead. She's gone. I made a grave for her on the hill behind us. Go see if you don't believe me."