Silas stops in front of me.
Two steps down from the dais. Looking up. The veil catches the dying light—a whisper of white between us, thin as a promise, fragile as everything I'm about to lose.
I don't move.
My eyes stay on him.
The sundown wraps around us both—golden, warm, almost tender. Like the sun is trying to soften something neither of us knows how to name. Like even the sky feels sorry for us.
Our eyes lock.
And for a moment—just a moment, just a breath, just the space between one heartbeat and the next—the whole world fades.
The guests dissolve into silence. The flowers blur into color without form. The violins wait, bows hovering over strings, holding their breath like everyone else.
Nothing exists but him.
Nothing exists but me.
Nothing exists but the space between two people who never asked to be standing here.
I don't know what I'm supposed to feel right now.
I don't know what I do feel.
I hate him.
