Page 89 of Top Shelf

“That’s good,” Lucian says, leaning in. His eyes bore into mine, as though searching, needing clarification that I’m telling the truth, that I’m not hiding from myself.

Ronan’s gaze flickers between us, then he shifts in his chair.

“So…” he says carefully. “Where do we go from here?”

I glance around the table. Once again, all eyes are on me. Waiting.

I chew on my lower lip. Where do we go from here? The truth is, I don’t know. For so long, I’ve only focused on surviving. Onavoiding. On staying upright enough that no one could see the cracks.

But now…the cracks are exposed.

I tighten my grip around the coffee cup, fingers curling into the warmth.

“I don’t have an answer for that,” I say softly. “Not yet.”

The words taste vulnerable on my tongue, yet they are the truth.

“I spent so long trying not to think about that night. Trying to bury it. Ignore it. Rewrite it. I didn’t want to remember. I didn’t want tofeelit.” My voice falters. I don’t look up. “Now I have, and…it didn’t break me.”

Silas shifts beside me, the faintest movement of presence and support.

“I think…” I pause. “I think I need to figure out who I am without that weight dragging me down. I don’t want that night to be what defines me anymore.”

Lucian leans back in his chair, arms crossed. His expression is one of thought, of consideration. “So that’s the plan?” he asks gently. “Figure out who the hell you are?”

I nod.

There is a beat of silence before Ronan states with soft assurance, “We can work with that.”

I blink. “What?”

He shrugs, a faint smile playing at his mouth. “It’s a plan. Doesn’t need to be a complicated one. You figure out who you are, and we’ll be here. However you need us.”

Silas reaches for his notebook and scribbles something down, turning it toward me.

You’re not alone in this anymore.

Lucian grunts. “Hell no, and if I ever find the bastard who hurt you, he’ll discover exactly how it feels to be broken and alone, left for dead.”

His voice is low, but deadly. A vow. No drama. No flair. Justtruth. A promise that hemeans.

The air tightens around the table, like everyone’s holding their breath. It’s notwhatLucian said. He’s the type to speak frequently of such violence. It’s the absolute conviction behind his words that resonates. I stare at him for a long second, letting the weight of his promise settle. There’s no pity in his eyes, no performance. Only fire.Fury. And the quiet kind of loyalty that burns steady and bright.

“I’m not sure I want to find him,” I confess quietly. I’m not even sure it would bepossibleto find him after all these years. Most likely, it was a BSU student anyway, so the chances of hunting him down while at Valehurst are basically zilch.

I spent the past three years at BSU, staring into the faces of strangers and asking myself,are you him?And it never did meany good. It didn’t solve anything. Didn’tfixwhat happened. It only held me back. Cemented me in the clutches of the past. If I want to move forward—trulymove forward—then I need to let go of everything from that night, including the notion of ever finding out who attacked me. Who stole such a pivotal piece of my soul.

Lucian tilts his head, waiting.

“I just want to move forward,” I explain. “Not forget, because I’ll never forget, but finallyliveagain. On my terms.”

That gets a slow nod from Ronan and a faint squeeze from Silas, his hand resting on mine again without me even noticing when it got there. Like it never really left.

No more is said after that.

There are no grand declarations. No solemn promises. There doesn’t need to be.

The moment justsettles, quiet and full of something unspoken but collectively understood. Lucian picks up his coffee. Ronan unwraps his sandwich. Silas nudges his hash browns toward me when I eye them a second too long.