It was Sunday morning.
That quiet kind of morning where everything felt slow and heavy like the world knew we were leaving.
I sat on the edge of the bed, my suitcase already zipped, my hands resting on top of it like if I let go, everything would unravel again. Jaxson stood by the window, phone in his hand, staring at nothing. We didn’t talk much. We didn’t need to.
New York still held pieces of me. Pieces of us.
But London was where I was learning how to breathe again.
When we walked downstairs, Ryder and Cole were already there. Nova sat on the arm of the couch, legs crossed, pretending to scroll through her phone but very obviously watching me.
“So,” Ryder said, breaking the silence, “you’re really leaving.”
I nodded. My throat felt tight, but I didn’t look away. I wasn’t runnin
