Page 40 of Rook
By the time he reached the lake, the adrenaline had burned off, leaving only the ache.
He killed the engine. Silence swallowed him whole.
The lake stretched out in front of him, dark and still, reflecting the sliver of moonlight breaking through the clouds. Rook walked to the water’s edge, boots sinking into the soft earth. He bent, picked up a flat stone, and sent it skimming across the surface.
One skip. Two. Three. Gone.
He grabbed another.
He didn’t want to think about Avery. Didn’t want to remember. Didn’t want to feel.
But the memories came anyway.
The barracks smelled like sweat, metal, and exhaustion. Noah sat on the edge of his bunk, boots unlaced, uniform dampfrom drills that had pushed him past the point of feeling anything but pain.
A letter lay in his hands. From home. He recognized the handwriting immediately. His mother’s handwriting. He tore it open with shaking fingers.
“Saw Avery’s Aunt Clara yesterday, Avery’s doing well. She’s made new friends. She’s seeing someone.”
His vision blurred. He read the line again. And again. And again.
The words didn’t change.
Avery. Seeing someone. Already.
His chest tightened until he couldn’t breathe.
He stood abruptly, knocking over the metal chair beside his bunk. His bunkmate looked up, startled, but Noah didn’t see him. Didn’t hear him.
He walked into the tiny bathroom, shut the door, and braced his hands on the sink.
His reflection stared back at him, younger than he felt and close to breaking.
He tried to breathe. He couldn’t.
He tried to swallow. He couldn’t.
He tried to stop the tears burning behind his eyes. He couldn’t.
He slid down the wall until he was sitting on the cold tile floor, fists pressed to his forehead, chest shaking with silent, furious grief.
He didn’t make a sound. Didn’t let himself. But he broke. Alone. In a room no one would ever know about.
And when he stood again, something in him was different. Harder. Colder. Quieter.
He folded the letter, tucked it into the bottom of his duffel, and never opened it again.
He didn’t write home after that. Didn’t call. Didn’t let himself hope.
He trained harder. Fought harder. Shut down deeper.
Every night, when the lights went out and the barracks fell silent, he thought of her.
Her laugh. Her smile. Her voice saying his name.
And the image of her with someone else carved him open all over again.
Rook blinked hard, dragging himself out of the memory. His chest hurt. His throat burned. He threwanother stone, harder this time. It skipped once before sinking.
