Page 47 of Bloom in Darkness

A fine tremor starts in my hands as the Bloom wears off, leaving my skin too hot even with Bryn’s scent settling over me before the restlessness can build into something worse. I flex my fingers beneath the blanket and wait for the urge to reach for the little amber jar. It comes, because lately it always does, but quieter than usual. Bryn shifts in his sleep and drags me closer against his chest, and I breathe until my hands stop shaking enough that I don’t have to hide them.

For a few seconds, I don’t move because I’m warm and neither of them is asking anything from me. Bryn’s still dead asleep behind me, taking up enough space for two people even unconscious, while Caelan lies on his side facing me with his eyes half-open. He looks softer like this, his hair pushed messily away from his forehead and none of the careful polish he carries through the Forge left on his face.

“Morning,” Caelan murmurs, his voice rough with sleep as he reaches across the small space between us to brush his thumb under my eye. His mouth curves when he inspects his fingertip. “You’ve still got glitter here.”

I groan and cover my face with one hand because I showered before bed, but Caelan catches my wrist before I can hide completely. He turns my face toward the light coming through the curtains and checks my cheek with unnecessary concentration, looking far too pleased about the surviving glitter for a man who complained about finding it in his sink last night. “I scrubbed,” I remind him.

“Apparently not well enough.” He rubs his thumb beneath my eye again, then lets my wrist go. “It’s persistent. I respect that.”

Bryn makes a low, rumbling sound behind me and tightens his arm when I try to sit up. I stop moving, glance over my shoulder, and find one green eye cracked open like he felt me trying to escape in his sleep. His face is still half buried in the pillow, but his grip around my waist firms another inch.

“I need coffee,” I tell him, which should be reasonable enough to earn my freedom.

Bryn stares at me for several seconds like he’s genuinely considering the request, then closes his eye again. “Five minutes,” he mutters, already settling deeper into the pillow.

“Absolutely not.” I hook my fingers around his wrist and try to pry his hand loose. It accomplishes nothing except making Caelan laugh quietly into his pillow while Bryn ignores me and buries his face against the back of my neck. His breath moves warm over my skin, followed by one slow inhale deep enough to make my toes curl beneath the blanket.

“He’s decided you’re staying,” Caelan says, watching us with obvious amusement. “You can argue with him if you want. It won’t help.”

“You guys make this all seem so easy.” The words come out quieter than I mean them to, and my hand stills where it rests over Bryn’s wrist. I look from Caelan to the arm wrapped around my waist, the words getting harder to say the longer I sit there. “I don’t know. Waking up like this. Fighting over coffee. You two acting like I’m supposed to be here.”

Caelan’s amusement fades without disappearing completely. His fingers rest against the mattress between us while he studies my face. “Is that a bad thing?”

“No.” I shake my head quickly, my throat tightening anyway. “I just didn’t know it could be easy.”

The admission sounds almost stupid once it’s sitting between us, and I start to look away until Caelan reaches over and closes his hand loosely around mine. I’m used to knowing what every hour costs, what every favor means, and what somebody expects after they’ve been kind to me. I’ve never gotten to stop and call any of it normal.

“It isn’t always easy,” he says. “Bryn gets impossible when he’s worried, and I get bossy when I think I’m right.”

A sleepy grunt comes from behind me. Caelan looks over my shoulder and raises his brows. “See?” he asks.

I laugh despite myself, but my chest still feels too full. “That sounded like disagreement.”

“It was. He’s wrong.” Caelan gives my fingers a small squeeze before letting them go. “Easy doesn’t mean nothing ever goes wrong, sweetheart. It means something can go wrong without costing you the whole thing.”

I look at him for a second longer than I should. Eventually hunger and caffeine win out. Caelan glances over my shoulder at Bryn and says, “Let him up and I’ll make sure you get breakfast.” Bryn grumbles into the back of my neck, loosens his arm by degrees, and I scramble out of bed before he changes his mind.

I steal one of his massive T-shirts from the chair and pull it over my head on the way out of the bedroom. The hem lands halfway down my thighs, and the sleeves swallow most of my upper arms, but it smells like him and I decide that makes it better than whatever I left folded in my bag.

The kitchen is bright and warm, sunlight spilling across the floor and counter. I reach for the cabinet, thinking about coffee and whether there are still eggs left from yesterday, and that’s when I see it. Caelan’s favorite mug, the heavy ceramic one he specifically pulled out and set on the counter yesterday.

I reach for it to move it out of the way. My palm is still slightly damp from sleep, and the mug shifts before I get a proper grip. I try to catch it against the counter, miss, and watch it fall. The mug hits the tile hard enough to explode into a dozen jagged shards.

The sound keeps ringing in my head after the last piece stops skittering across the floor. Everything inside me stops at once. I stare at the broken ceramic scattered around my bare feet while heat crawls up my neck and the kitchen seems to narrow around me. For half a second I’m somewhere else entirely, waiting for the sharp inhale that comes before somebody starts yelling. My shoulders creep toward my ears as my stomach pulls tight, already knowing how fast one stupid mistake can turn into a list of everything else I’ve done wrong.

“I’m sorry.” The apology is out before I even know who I’m saying it to. I drop to my knees, already reaching for the biggest pieces. “I didn’t mean to drop it. I’ll clean it up.”

If I can get it off the floor fast enough, maybe the kitchen will look normal again before they get here. My hands move faster, gathering shards without thinking about the edges, and my breath comes in short, shallow pulls that never seem to fill my lungs.

A sharp sting catches at my heel, but I barely register it. I grab another piece. Footsteps and low laughter drift down the hallway. My stomach drops so hard my hand closes around the ceramic in my palm. The laughter stops the second they reach the kitchen. I look up and see Bryn first, hair still disordered from sleep, his expression blank in the way it gets when something has all of his attention. Caelan’s right behind him, amusement gone from his face as his gaze moves over me and then drops toward the floor. My shoulders lock before either of them says a word.

“I’m sorry, I’ll pay for it, I swear.” My voice breaks as I scramble backward, my hands flying up between us. “I didn’t mean to. I just moved it and it slipped and I know it was your favorite, but I can replace it. I can—”

Bryn takes one heavy step toward me and reaches out. The movement sends me straight into panic. I dart past him before either of them can catch me, nearly slipping on the edge of Bryn’s shirt as I bolt down the hall. My bare feet slap against the floor, and I hear Caelan swear behind me while I fumble with the deadbolt. My fingers shake badly enough that it takes two tries to turn it.

“Astra?” Bryn’s voice follows me, thick with confusion instead of anger, but I’m already fumbling with the lock.

I finally get the door open and stumble onto the front step before spinning around. Caelan’s already pushing past Bryn, his expression shifting from sleepy confusion to immediate concern when he sees my face.