Chapter 101: Faultline
Nightfall — The Safehouse, North Pines
The warmth from the cabin hadn't lasted.
The fire had long since died down, leaving only a low bed of embers and the scent of pine - smoke lingering in the rafters. Outside, the forest loomed — not loud, not violent, just there, pressing against the windows, as if waiting for something to shift. Inside, silence had returned like an old friend they didn't want back.
Aria sat on the frayed rug near the fireplace, her back propped against the couch's edge. The edge of her hoodie was burned near the sleeve where she'd instinctively shielded Selene earlier, and the blood on her collar hadn't dried evenly — it flaked when she moved. The shallow gash along her neck had stopped bleeding, but her body still ached from the alley scuffle. Her shoulder was bruised. Her knee stiff. Her pride worse off than both.
They hadn't talked about the ambush.
They hadn't talked about the clearing. Or her parents' revelation. Or the thing now inside her, blooming like a second heart.
Selene leaned near the window, perched with one leg folded up to her chest, the other angled for balance. Her clothes were streaked with dirt and blood, most of it not hers. The grip on her knife was relaxed, but her eyes weren't. She kept scanning the street outside like danger might materialize from the fog just for daring to look away.
Aria's gaze lingered on her, quietly tracing the slope of her neck, the flecks of blood on her cheek, the way her jaw clenched when she thought no one was watching. She knew that posture too well. Knew what it meant. Selene wasn't just watching for threats.
She was trying not to feel.
Aria finally spoke, voice low and raw. "You should've waited."
Selene didn't turn. "You always say that after we're already bleeding."
"I'm serious."
"So am I."
A flicker of frustration crept up Aria's spine. "You walked into that trap like it didn't matter if you got out."
Selene's shoulders tightened. She still didn't look back. "If I hadn't, you'd be dead."
"And if you had died, then what?"
Selene shifted slightly, her profile half-lit by the soft blue from the streetlight outside. "That's not the part I care about."
Aria set the blade she'd been cleaning aside with more force than necessary, the metallic clang quiet but deliberate. "Why do you do that?"
"Do what?"
"Pretend like you're some expendable weapon. Like it wouldn't matter if you disappeared."
Selene finally looked over, her expression unreadable. "Because someone has to be."
"Damn it."
"I'm not like you."
"No, you're not. You're reckless and stubborn and emotionally constipated —"
Selene's brow arched. "Charming."
"— but you're also the only reason I'm still alive, and I'm not okay with watching you throw yourself away like your life isn't worth the same as mine."
They stared at each other for a beat, the silence louder than any scream. Then Selene exhaled slowly, leaning back against the wall.
"I've never been good at… this. At letting anyone in. I wasn't built for it."
"Then maybe you were built wrong."
Selene snorted, but it lacked its usual edge. "Probably."
Aria stood, stretching the soreness from her limbs, and crossed the room slowly. She crouched beside Selene, close enough to feel her body heat despite the cool air in the room. Her voice softened. "You don't have to be perfect, Selene. You just have to be here."
Selene looked at her, expression tight. "That's not easy for me."
"I'm not asking you to change overnight. I'm just asking you to stop running every time you feel something."
Selene's hand curled into a loose fist against her knee. She looked away.
Aria reached over and placed her hand gently over Selene's. Her thumb moved in a small, slow circle. "We can't afford to keep pretending we don't care. Not anymore."
"I know." Selene's voice was hoarse. "That's what scares me."
Aria smiled, but it was small. "Good. Fear means you have something to lose."
Selene hesitated. Then she shifted, just enough to let their foreheads touch. It was awkward, imperfect — but real. Aria closed her eyes, breathing in the scent of sweat and ash and that faint winter-mint that always lingered near Selene's skin.
"I hate how much I need you," Selene murmured.
"You'll get used to it."
"I might not."
"Then stay scared with me."
Neither of them moved for a while.
The fire crackled again, soft and low, like it was listening.
Eventually, Selene pulled back and sighed, looking toward the door. "We can't stay long."
"I know."
"They'll be looking for us."
"They already are."
Selene's eyes flicked to her pack near the door. "How bad's your shoulder?"
"Manageable. Bruised more than anything."
"You should rest."
"You won't."
"No."
"Then I won't either."
Selene smirked, just faintly. "You're a terrible patient."
Aria grinned back. "And you're a terrible nurse."
Selene stood and offered a hand. Aria took it, letting herself be pulled up. Her body protested slightly, but she didn't let it show. They moved together toward the kitchenette, both aware of how temporary this peace was.
Aria reached into the old cupboard and pulled down a battered tin of coffee. It wasn't much, but it was warm and bitter and it kept her hands busy.
As the kettle warmed, she glanced back at Selene. "Do you think my parents knew everything?"
Selene's answer was instant. "Yes."
"But they still let me go. Still raised me like I was theirs."
"That's the part that matters."
"I wonder if they knew what it would cost."
Selene stepped closer, voice low. "They didn't care. Love doesn't make sense, Aria. It just is."
Aria looked up at her, searching for something in that face — that fierce, sharp, impossibly guarded expression she'd come to know better than her own reflection.
"Do you love me?" she asked, before she could stop herself.
Selene didn't flinch. "I don't know how to say it."
"Try."
Selene's jaw worked silently, like the words were heavier than the world outside. Then, finally, she exhaled.
"I'd burn this whole world down if you asked."
Aria's throat tightened. "I wouldn't ask."
"I know," Selene whispered, her fingers brushing Aria's. "That's why I'd still do it."
They didn't kiss.
Not yet.
Instead, they stood in the flickering light of the stove, holding the space between them like it might shatter if either of them moved too fast.
The kettle whistled.
They drank quietly, sitting on the old loveseat pushed against the cabin wall. Aria's head tilted against Selene's shoulder. Selene let it happen.
The minutes passed slow, but steady. The world outside didn't reach them here. Not yet.
Aria stirred. "I think the forest will come for me again."
Selene's jaw tightened. "Then we keep moving."
"It's inside me. I feel it growing."
"Then we face it when it comes."
"I don't want to lose myself."
"You won't. I won't let you."
Aria tilted her head to meet her eyes. "Promise?"
Selene leaned in slowly, her breath warm against Aria's cheek. "I don't make promises I can't keep."
Aria didn't move away. "That's not a no."
"No," Selene said, brushing their lips together in the barest whisper of contact. "It's not."
And when they finally kissed — it wasn't fire, or frenzy. It was quiet. Like a thread being tied. Like something that had always been there, waiting.
Aria melted into it, her fingers curling into Selene's shirt. She didn't need fireworks. She just needed this. That mouth. That taste. That warmth that bloomed behind her ribs despite the frost outside.
Selene pulled back first, breathless and steady, forehead resting against Aria's.
"I should've kissed you a long time ago."
"You still can," Aria whispered, grinning.
Selene chuckled, low and real.
Later, they packed.
The streets of North Pines were silent as they moved, careful not to leave signs. Selene led them along back paths and deer trails, navigating by instinct and moonlight. Aria walked beside her, feeling the pulse of the bloom echoing low in her chest — not threatening, not yet, but present. Watching. Waiting.
They crossed the ridge before dawn, the forest opening up ahead like a mouth.
Selene looked to her. "You ready?"
Aria nodded. "I was born for this."
They disappeared into the trees together — not as prey.
But as something the forest would have to reckon with.