The morning light in Portland didn’t filter through my apartment window so much as it bled through, gray and stubborn, casting long shadows across a living room that suddenly felt entirely too small. / Chapter 2 / 18

Chapter 2 - The Sound of SilenceBy Tuesday afternoon, my apartment had transformed from a quiet sanctuary for an audio editor into a chaotic, beautiful war zone of artistic expression. Lily’s gallery setup was only three days away, and my living room floor was covered in charcoal sketches, framing tape, and half-empty coffee cups.

I sat at my editing desk, wearing noise-canceling headphones, trying to clean up an audio track for a true-crime podcast. But the real static wasn't coming from the microphone hiss on my screen; it was coming from six feet away, where Lily was sitting cross-legged on the rug, carefully applying gold leaf to one of her massive canvas pieces.

Every time she shifted, the heavy silver rings on her fingers clicked against glass. Every time she sighed, my chest tightened.

I pulled off the headphones with a sharp sigh and spun around in my chair. "If you spill gold leaf on my Persian rug, Noah will literally have to identify my body."

Lily didn't look up from her canvas, though a grin played on her lips. "Relax, Ethan. It's water-based. Besides, you're the one who insisted I use the best lighting in the apartment. Can I help it if your art studio doubles as a cave?"

"It’s not a cave, it’s a professional workspace," I retorted, standing up and walking over. I looked down at her painting. It was abstract, violent, and breathtaking—deep indigos crashing against aggressive strokes of crimson and gold. It looked a lot like how I felt around her. "Is this the centerpiece for the gallery?"

She finally looked up, her gaze locking onto mine with an intensity that made me want to take a step back. "Part of it. It’s called The Eighth Year."

My breath hitched. "Subtle."

"Nothing about us is subtle, Ethan, and you know it." She set down her brush, wiped her hands on a rag, and slowly stood up. Because she was barefoot and I was standing close, the height difference melted away. She reached out, her fingers gently tracing the collar of my shirt, right over my pulse point. "You've been running from this since that graduation party. Why?"

"Because you were twenty-one," I said defensively, though my voice lacked any real bite. "Because Noah is my best friend. Because if I crossed that line, there's no going back."

"And who said anything about going back?" she whispered, stepping closer until her breath warmed my skin. "What if I don't want to go back? What if I've been waiting eight years for you to stop being a coward?"

The front door suddenly jangled. The sound of keys hitting the drop-bowl echoed through the small entryway.

Lily froze. I froze.