Page 91 of Endo
And then, suddenly, a soft rustling sound breaks through the moment.
We both freeze, the sound pulling our attention away from each other. I sit up, shifting Lena slightly as I glance towardthe noise. Tiny shapes emerge from the white sand, their small bodies illuminated by the moonlight.
“Is that… turtles?” I ask quietly, watching as the hatchlings wriggle free and begin their journey toward the ocean.
Lena sits up beside me, her breath catching as she takes in the scene. The soft glow of the moon reflects in her eyes, and for a moment, neither of us speaks. The hatchlings move with surprising determination, their tiny legs pushing them toward the waves.
“Baby leatherbacks,” she whispers, her voice filled with something I can’t quite place—wonder, maybe, or a fragile kind of hope.
We sit there in silence for a while, watching them. I know the memory of doing this with Cruz must be hitting her hard, but she doesn’t say it. She doesn’t have to. It’s written all over her face—the ache, the loss, and something else: acceptance.
I reach out, brushing my fingers against hers where they rest on her lap. “They’re strong,” I murmur, my gaze never leaving the turtles. “They don’t stop. No matter how hard the path is, they keep going.”
Her fingers curl around mine, and the weight of the moment settles over us like a blanket.
We sit there, watching until the last of the hatchlings disappears into the waves. Brushing the sand from our hands and legs and without a word, we walk down the beach, gently guiding any stragglers toward the ocean.
When it’s done, Lena turns to me, her arms wrapped around herself. Her hair blows in the breeze, her expression distant as she stares out at the water.
“He’d be proud of you,” I say quietly knowing full well where her thoughts are. “For remembering him, for letting him stay a part of you without letting him hold you back.”
Her gaze meets mine, and there’s something in it I don’t have words for—something deep, raw, and real. She steps closer, her arms sliding around my waist as she presses her forehead against my chest.
“Thank you,” she murmurs.
I wrap my arms around her, holding her tight as the waves crash softly against the shore. For the first time, there’s no tension between us, no unspoken words hanging in the air. Just peace.
And for the first time in a long time, it feels like we’re both starting to heal.
34
LENA
Into The Ocean - Blue October
The momentI step into my apartment and flick on the light, it feels like the air has been knocked out of me.
Everything is wrecked. My furniture is overturned, cushions slashed open with stuffing spilling out like entrails. My photos are shattered on the floor, glass crunching under my sneakers. Clothes are ripped and strewn across every surface like confetti from some cruel, destructive celebration. And then I see it—the tank.
Blue’s tank.
The shattered glass glitters in the moonlight shining in through the blinds, water soaking into the carpet and pooling near the edges of the broken tank. Blue lies motionless on the gravel, his small, lifeless body catching the faint light filtering through the mess. My stomach twists, bile rising in my throat.
Blue wasn’t just a fish; he was Cruz’s fish.
Our fish, and now he’s gone too.
I can’t move. My legs feel like lead as I stare at the destruction. Everything is trashed. My bookshelves are tippedover, pages torn and fluttering like broken wings. Even the painting Cruz bought me from one of the local artists who hangs out down by the pier for my birthday, has been slashed, the canvas flapping limply against the wall.
The weight in my chest is unbearable. It’s like they didn’t just destroy my apartment—they came for my memories, for the pieces of Cruz I’ve been holding onto. Blue. The painting. Everything I had left of him.
Of us.
All of it, wrecked.
“Lena,” Reign’s voice cuts through the fog, low and sharp. I hadn’t even realized he followed me inside. I turn to look at him, and his expression is murderous. His hands are balled into fists, his jaw clenched so tight I think he might crack a tooth. He doesn’t say anything else at first, just surveys the wreckage with a growing fire in his eyes.
“It’s—” My voice cracks, and I try again. “It’s just stuff. I can?—”
