Prologue

Axel

The house stays quiet after midnight, but quiet never means safe here.

I sit on the floor beside the bed with my back against the wall and my knees pulled up, because sleeping feels stupid when I know what waits when the lights go out. My sister sleeps on the mattress with one arm tucked under her cheek, and even in the dark, I can see the dried tear tracks on her face. Amaris always tries to hide them from me. She wipes them away before morning, squares her shoulders, and pretends she still knows how to make this world hurt less.

She shouldn't have to do that for me.

I stare at the window until my eyes ache. The glass has a crack through one corner from last winter, when the man downstairs threw a mug hard enough to miss the wall and hit the frame. Nobody fixed it. Nobody fixes anything in this place. They move furniture over stains, hang curtains over holes, tell caseworkers everything's fine, and smile until the front door shuts again.

Then the house remembers what it really is.

My hands shake, so I tuck them under my arms. I hate the shaking more than anything. I hate that my body knows fear before my head has time to argue. I hate that Amaris watches me sometimes, pretending not to notice when I flinch at footsteps or go still when someone says my name too softly. I hate that she thinks she failed me because she couldn't stop every ugly thing that happened under roofs where we were supposed to be grateful.

She didn't fail me.

The world did.

That feels too big for a boy to carry, but I carry it anyway because nobody ever asks whether I can. At school, they laugh when I keep my head down. They call me weak when I don't swing back. They shove me into lockers, write things on my notebooks, and smile when teachers tell me I need to toughen up. Adults love that word. Tough. They say it when they don't want to deal with what someone else broke.

Amaris gets mad enough for both of us. She's got fire in her even when she's tired. She's got this way of standing between me and the world with her chin lifted, daring anyone to come closer. She thinks I don't see how scared she feels. I see everything about her because she's the only good thing I've had since we lost the last place that almost felt bearable.

I press my palm to the loose board near my hip and lift it carefully. The paper beneath it crinkles when I pull it free. I wrote the letter in pieces over three days because my hand kept locking up. I didn't tell her everything. I couldn't. Some words don't belong in her head forever. She's got enough there already.

I tell her I love her. I tell her I'm sorry. I tell her this isn't her fault. I tell her she has to live anyway, even if living feels like dragging her heart behind her for a while.

The last line nearly took me apart.

I'm sorry I'm not brave enough to stay.

I fold the paper once, then again, and slide it beneath the edge of her pillow where she'll find it after. My throat works around the sound I can't let out. If I wake her, she'll stop me. If she stops me, I'll stay, and if I stay, tomorrow will come, and then another tomorrow after that. I don't have another one in me.

I lean over her and press my lips to her hair. She smells faintly of the cheap apple shampoo she found in the bathroom cabinet, and something in my chest twists because she saved the last of it for me yesterday. She always gives me the better half. Better blanket. Better chair. Better lie when adults ask who started the fight.

"I'm sorry," I whisper, so low the room keeps it.

She shifts, and for one second, I think she's waking. Her fingers curl against the sheet, and her brows pull together. I freeze with my heart pounding hard enough that it hurts. She settles again, but her hand reaches across the empty mattress, searching.

I almost climb in beside her.

I almost let morning find us both.

Then a floorboard groans downstairs, and my body goes cold before I can breathe through it. I pick up my shoes, step over the place where the floor complains, and move toward the door. The hallway waits with its peeling paint and sour smell and dark corners. I look back once.

Amaris sleeps with her hand open where mine should be.

I leave before I can turn around.

Dear Mars,

I know you're going to read this and go straight into that cold quiet you do when your heart is trying not to split open.

I'm sorry, and I'm so sorry.

I'm not writing that because I want forgiveness.

I'm writing it because you deserve the truth, and I never want you thinking you missed something, or that you could've fixed me if you loved me harder.

You already loved me harder than anybody should ever have to love somebody.

I need you to hear me.

This isn't your fault.

I don't care what your brain tries to do to you, and I don't care what you feel when you start blaming yourself.

This isn't because you didn't answer a call, and it isn't because you didn't say the right thing.

This is because my head has been a war zone for a long time, and I'm tired of living in it.

I'm tired of waking up scared.

I'm tired of being ashamed of my own skin.

I'm tired of carrying something I never asked for and pretending it doesn't weigh anything.

Please don't let anybody turn this into a lesson about you.

Please don't let anybody talk about you like you're fragile, like you're going to break.

Your spine has been steel since we were kids.

You've always been the strong one, even when you didn't want to be.

And you're going to keep going.

Not because you owe me that.

Because you deserve your own life.

I want your lungs to fill with air that feels like it belongs to you.

I want your laugh to come from your chest, not your throat.

I want your anger to be loud when it needs to be loud. I want you to stop shrinking for people who never earned you.

If you ever get to a place where you can forgive me, I'll take it.

If you never can, I get it. I'm not asking you to pretend this doesn't hurt. I'm asking you to live anyway, even if living feels like dragging your heart behind you for a while.

I love you. I love you, and I'm sorry I'm leaving you alone in this. I'm sorry I'm not brave enough to stay.

Love,

Axel