Chapter 63 The Hell Of Those Who Truly Love

• ZOE
• The silence of the night felt heavier when we shared it. Outside, the wind slipped through the trees as if searching for a way in. Inside, the warmth of the fireplace couldn’t thaw me. Dante didn’t speak. Neither did I. But our bodies shared a room too small for all that we kept silent.
• The house was lost somewhere in the Sierra, a stone and wood construction smelling of dry smoke and spilled whiskey. As soon as we arrived, he offered me a blanket, made me tea, then stepped away. He didn’t ask questions. He didn’t try to touch me. He let me breathe, but never stopped watching me. As if he expected me to explode or break. Or both.