Page 47 of Her Unending Horizon

She blinked once. Twice. Then that slow Avery patience slid over her like armor.

“I’m fine leaving,” she said. “If you can explain what changed between this morning and right now.”

I clenched my jaw. “Nothing changed.”

“Zarek,” she said, stepping closer. “You fell asleep last night knowing I was across the hall and you could breathe. You couldn’t even look at me this morning without smiling. Something happened. So tell me what it was.”

I wanted to lie. I almost did. But the day had been one long string of bad decisions and lies tasted worse on top of them.

“I was at the gym,” I muttered.

Her silence stretched. Not judgmental. Not furious. Just… evaluating.

“And you’re impressed with yourself for the stellar decision-making, I assume?” she asked mildly.

Heat flushed up the back of my neck. “It’s not⁠—”

“No, it’s fine,” she cut in. “Truly. I’m glad you’re taking care of your mental health in such healthy and productive ways.”

The sarcasm should’ve stung, but instead she sighed. And then she did the most confusing thing of all—she dropped it.

“Okay,” she said. “Well, I’ll go.”

It was my turn to blink. “Just like that?”

“Just like that.” She was already moving toward the guest room. “Staying here if you don’t want me here isn’t going to magically fix anything.”

I heard drawers opening. The closet door sliding. The soft rustle of fabric.

Then she reappeared with an old canvas tote over her shoulder—the one she used to take to farmer’s markets and art fairs. It looked smaller on her than I remembered. Or maybe she looked smaller. I couldn’t tell.

She went to the kitchen without looking at me, opened the oven, and pulled out a plate wrapped in foil. She set it gently on the table, peeled the foil back, and turned to me.

“Eat,” she said. “You need to start taking care of yourself.”

I stared at her, blindsided. I’d expected anger. Accusations. Tears. Hell, even a slammed door would’ve been easier.

But she just offered me a plate of food and the belief that I didn’t deserve to starve.

She looked at the plate, then at me, and smiled—small and sad and stupidly strong.

Before I could form a sentence, she closed the distance between us. One hand came up to rest over my heart, warm and steady. The other cupped my cheek, fingers light against my skin where the bruise was darkening into something ugly.

“You can’t walk away from yourself forever, Zarek Post,” she said. Her voice didn’t shake. Mine might have if I’d tried to use it.

Then she stepped back, adjusted the tote on her shoulder, and walked out the front door.

The latch clicked behind her, quiet as a pin drop.

It still felt like an explosion.

It must have been close to three in the morning because the house had that particular kind of quiet where even the appliances quit pretending to hum. I was on the couch, elbows on my knees, hands clasped, staring at the untouched dinner sitting cold on the table.

Chloe had arranged it like she expected me to sit down and eat like a normal human being. There was still one dirty pan in the sink waiting to go into the dishwasher. I should have rinsed it hours ago, should have wiped the cutting board, should have restored the kitchen to whatever sterile order I’d convinced myself mattered.

But I didn’t want to move it.

It felt like doing so would erase her presence entirely, like the whole day might collapse into something I made up if I cleaned too well.