I tucked Daren into my bed like he was something fragile I’d borrowed from the universe and hadn’t quite earned the right to keep. He mumbled something unintelligible, lashes fluttering, the last fog of whatever he’d taken still clinging to him. His hair stuck out in soft angles against the pillow, and for a second I just… stood there. Smiling. Blushing, probably. God, I was pathetic. I set the folded clothes on the bedside table—fresh shirt, clean jeans, no trace of smoke. If Princess smelled anything when she saw him later, she’d interrogate him like a crime scene witness, and Daren was terrible at lying. Better he woke up here. Better he woke up with me. I grabbed a pen from the desk and scribbled on hotel stationery: Be right back. Don’t panic. — H I hesitated before setting the note beside his hand, my fingers brushing his knuckles. Then I forced myself away before I did something embarrassing like kiss him while he was unconscious. Leather jacket. Keys. Phone. Breathe. I stepped into the hallway and shut the door quietly behind me. Outside the hotel entrance, a motorcycle engine purred low and steady. The rider lifted her visor. “Du er sen,” she said. I blinked. “Hi.” Selma snorted. “Wow. English. Look at you. One year abroad and suddenly you’re an American white boy.” “I’m still Norwegian,” I said. “I just… assimilate easily.” She laughed, sharp and bright, and tossed me a helmet. “Get on, traitor.” I swung onto the bike behind her, the leather seat cold through my jeans. The engine roared to life, and we shot down the street, wind tearing at my hair. For a while, neither of us spoke. Then she shouted over the rush of air, “So! Senior year! How was America? Your parents? Mellie? They still pretending everything’s fine?” I tightened my grip on the back rail. “…It was fine.” She glanced back slightly. “That’s it?” I shrugged. She understood. Selma always understood. The rest of the ride passed in silence. ⸻ She slowed when we reached the edge of town. The house stood where I’d left it. Or what was left of it. Charred beams. Collapsed roof. Windows like empty eye sockets. It looked less like a building and more like a skeleton that refused to lie down. My helmet came off slowly. My hands felt numb. I didn’t remember stepping off the bike. I just… was already walking toward it. “Henri,” Selma called. “Careful.” Her boots crunched behind me as she followed. Inside, the air smelled like wet ash and old wood. Moonlight leaked through the broken ceiling, painting silver stripes across the floor. Every step stirred dust that hadn’t been touched in years. “This place used to be cute,” she murmured. I didn’t answer. Because I could see it. Not like this. The way it used to be. The yellow curtains. The crooked picture frames. Mellie’s shoes always by the door even after Mom told it a hundred times not to leave them there. Selma’s voice softened. “You know… about Hailey…” My body went still. I stared at the far wall. “I regret shooting her,” I said. Silence swallowed the room. “That wasn’t your choice,” Selma said gently. “You shouldn’t hold that against yourself.” I shook my head. “It was every bit my fault. Same as this place burning down.” She didn’t argue. That was worse than if she had. ⸻ I climbed the stairs carefully, stepping over splintered wood. Moss had begun creeping along the walls, vines threading through cracks like the house was trying to stitch itself back together. At least things could still grow here. At the end of the hall, I stopped. Light gray door. Edges charred black. My hand hovered over the knob before I pushed it open. Our room. Destroyed. But when I closed my eyes— I saw it. Hailey’s side: perfectly neat, blue-green bedding tucked with military precision, medals pinned above her desk, certificates framed and aligned like soldiers. My side: black and red sheets, band posters peeling at the corners, soccer trophies shoved wherever they fit. Selma leaned against the doorway behind me. I stepped inside slowly and looked down. The center of the room. Everything burned. Except one thing. The safe. Platinum. Untouched. Like the fire had bowed to it. My knees hit the floor. The code hadn’t changed. It clicked open. Inside lay a soft leather book with a lock unlike any I’d seen—no keyhole. Just three indentations:
Heart. Star. Lightning bolt. My fingers trembled as I reached into my pocket and pulled out a small clip. Blue-green. Heart-shaped. It slid perfectly into place. I smiled. “This is it,” I whispered. “This has everything.” Selma watched me quietly. I glanced back at her. “Sorry. For disappearing. For not calling. Not writing. Nothing.” She shook her head, a small smile tugging her mouth. “You had reasons.” Yeah. I did. My phone buzzed. Daren. ‘where r u’ Another message. ‘henri?’ Another. ‘did i do something wrong’ My chest tightened. “Can we go back?” I asked. Selma nodded immediately. “Of course.” ⸻ The ride back felt shorter. At the hotel entrance, I handed her the helmet. “Takk.” Her eyebrows lifted. “Look at that. Norwegian. He remembers.” “I missed you,” I said. She laughed. “Don’t be a stranger.” I watched her pull her helmet on. “I already am.” She didn’t reply. Just gave me a look I couldn’t quite read before the motorcycle roared and disappeared down the street. ⸻ The hallway lights hummed overhead as I reached my room. I opened the door. Stepped inside. And the world went black. ⸻ I jerked awake. Canvas above me. Not a ceiling. A tent. My heart slammed against my ribs while my brain scrambled to catch up with reality. The cold ground under my back. The faint chirp of insects. The distant rustle of trees. Right. We weren’t in Norway. We hadn’t been for months. That hadn’t been a memory. That had been a dream. I turned my head. Daren lay beside me, dead asleep, hair falling across his face, breathing slow and steady. Around his neck hung my red lightning bolt necklace—the one thing I’d never let anyone touch before him. Something warm spread through my chest. For the first time in my life… I was happy. I leaned over and pressed a soft kiss to his forehead. He stirred, mumbling, but didn’t wake. I lay back down beside him, listening to his breathing until mine matched it. And for once— I slept without ghosts.
