Chapter 26— Last Days, Fading Walls
Lyra's POV
The week is shorter than I expected. It feels like I just arrived, and yet, here I am, counting the days until I have to return to Saint Valley High. My chest is heavy with the thought, and yet… something inside me feels lighter than it has in two weeks.
The group is still outside. Every day, without fail. I see their cars from the balcony, Evan always in the driver's seat, scanning the house, the garden, the street. At first, their presence made me tense, angry, like a weight pressing down on my chest. But now… I notice little things I hadn't before.
The way Evan leans back, exhaling slowly, shoulders slumping as if he's just as tired of this waiting as I am. The way Soraya and Saphira whisper quietly to each other, glancing around, like they're nervous children caught in a storm. The way Cassian's hand taps against the steering wheel, restless, anxious.
I don't smile. Not yet. But I notice. And noticing is… the first step.
I spend the mornings with my sketchbook and my pencil, walking through the streets with Lola, letting the familiar sights and smells remind me that there's still comfort in the world. Sometimes Maeve joins, carrying her own sketchpad, and we sit on the fountain steps, drawing, talking quietly. She doesn't ask about Saint Valley, doesn't push me to explain anything. Just her presence, steady and calm, is enough to remind me that not everyone leaves scars.
One afternoon, I sit on the balcony, sketchbook open, pencil moving over the page almost without thought. My hands are steadier than they were at the start of the trip. I look up at the street below and notice Evan sitting in his car again. I pause, and for a moment, our eyes meet.
He gives me the faintest of nods, almost imperceptible, but it makes something shift in my chest. The anger I've been holding so tightly — the fiery, burning kind that made my stomach twist every time I thought of Saint Valley — it softens, just a little. My jaw unclenches. My heart… melts.
Not completely. Not entirely. But just enough for me to remember the boy who made me feel like light, the boy who called me "Sol" and made the world feel softer, warmer, like maybe, just maybe, I could breathe again.
That night, I decide to walk through the small plaza near my childhood home. The fountain gurgles, pigeons coo and flutter, and the streetlights glow warmly on the cobblestones. My sketchbook is tucked under my arm. I don't stop at the market today. I just walk, letting the city breathe around me.
And then I see him. Evan. Standing at the edge of the plaza, hesitant, hands shoved into his pockets. He's looking down at the ground, not daring to step closer. I stop in my tracks, chest tight, but something in the way he doesn't move forward… it doesn't scare me like it would have two weeks ago.
I take a cautious step toward him.
"Lyra…" he starts, voice low, careful. "I… I know I don't deserve this. I know I hurt you."
I bite my lip, fists clenched at my sides. "You don't understand what it feels like… to find out your friends, your boyfriend, everyone… used you."
His eyes glimmer, raw, guilt-stricken. "I know. I didn't know how to fix it before, and then you left, and… I just — I had to try, even if it meant sitting here every day, hoping you'd see we were sorry."
I look at him, really look, for the first time in days. The lines of worry on his face, the softness in his eyes, the way he's waited without forcing me. Something in me shifts. The anger that had been coiled in my chest begins to unravel.
I feel tears prick the corners of my eyes, but this time… they aren't just sadness. They are relief, a little softness, a little hope. I exhale, slow and steady, letting the warmth of the evening wash over me.
"I…" I start, then stop, unsure of the words. My fists unclench. My jaw relaxes. My heart beats, not in anger, not in pain, but in a tentative, fragile hope.
He takes a careful step closer. "I don't expect forgiveness yet. Not now. But I want you to know… I'm here. I'm not going anywhere. I'll wait as long as it takes."
I glance at him, really glance, and for the first time, I feel… seen. The betrayal, the anger, the hurt — it doesn't vanish completely, but it softens, melting just enough to let me breathe. To let me feel again.
"I don't know what's next," I whisper. "I don't know if I can trust again. But… thank you. For waiting."
He nods, silent, giving me space. And I realize — maybe I can take this last week not just surviving, but breathing. Slowly, carefully. Maybe even… opening my heart, just a little.