When the Storm Breaks by Emory Hartwell

Author:Emory Hartwell [Hartwell, Emory]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2025-10-07T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 27

Haiyden

I settle on the far side of the couch and pat the cushion beside me, silently beckoning Calla. She lifts the throw blanket and sits at the other end instead. The space between us is noticeable, but not uncomfortable. Still, I feel it—an itch just beneath my skin, aching for me to close it.

Neither of us says anything. Breakfast was enough. I grab the remote and start scrolling, too aware of how quiet the apartment feels. Every so often, I steal a glance at Calla, watching as she shifts under the blanket, tucking her feet beneath her. I wonder if she feels the silence too. If it’s comforting, or if she’s just waiting for the right moment to leave.

But then she exhales, sinking deeper into the couch.

Something in my chest eases. Just a little.

There’s an odd sense of calm with her here. I’m aware of her presence, but in a way that feels different from everyone else. Easier.

After a few minutes of scrolling, I settle on a movie that feels like something she’d like—something I can tolerate—and turn to look at her. She looks exhausted. Comfortable. Beautiful.

“This okay?” I ask.

She nods, offering a small smile.

By the time the credits roll, the room feels different. The golden light filtering through the window has shifted, stretching long across the floor, softening the space. Neither of us moves, so I start scrolling for another movie.

“One more?”

She stirs, shaking the blanket loose. “I’m gonna grab a glass of water.”

Before she can get up, I press a hand to her shoulder, keeping her in place. “I got it.”

In the kitchen, I grab two glasses from the open shelving. The microwave clock catches my eye—it’s already early afternoon. Outside, the light has deepened, turning warmer, heavier. The apartment feels still. Settled.

I don’t know what her plans are, but selfishly, I want to keep her here as long as I can.

I fill the glasses and bring them back, handing hers over. I watch as her lips round the rim, taking slow sips before setting it down. She moves, shaking out the blanket and sitting down again. Closer this time. Only a few inches, but I feel them like they’re miles.

I pick another movie, barely registering the choice, and shift closer too.

When this one ends, the sky outside has deepened to blue, stretching cool shadows across the walls. To my surprise, Calla leans forward, snatching the remote from the table.

“My pick,” she says, plopping back down—closer, still.

She puts on a cartoon—something from her childhood, she says—but I barely hear the explanation over the pounding in my chest. Maybe an inch separates us, but my body reacts like she’s in my lap. I have to fight the impulse to reach for her.

It’s strange how easy this feels. I’ve spent so long keeping people at arm’s length, but it doesn’t feel unnatural to let her in.

Halfway through the movie, her stomach growls. Loudly.

The soft glow from the TV flickers across her face, illuminating the slight flush in her cheeks.

Fuck. I forgot to feed her again.

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