Chapter 127: Whispers in the Dark

The night was eerily quiet as I sat by the window, the moonlight spilling over the desk like liquid silver. My hands rested on the edge, trembling slightly as my thoughts churned. The air carried a weight I couldn’t quite name—an oppressive stillness that felt as though it were brimming with secrets, waiting to spill out.

I kept telling myself to focus, to let the calmness of the scene lull me into something resembling peace. But my mind kept circling back to the note I’d found earlier, tucked into the pocket of my jacket. Its edges were worn, the paper fragile, as though it had been handled a thousand times before finding its way to me.

The words were scribbled hastily, yet the message was chillingly deliberate: “Not everyone can be saved. Choose wisely.”

I’d read it over and over, my pulse quickening each time. Who had written it? And what did they mean by “choose wisely”? The knot in my stomach tightened. I was tired of cryptic warnings, tired of feeling like I was always a step behind.

I glanced at the clock. It was well past midnight, but sleep felt like an impossible luxury. I couldn’t rest—not when the shadows felt like they were closing in.

A soft knock at the door jolted me from my thoughts. My heart leapt into my throat as I turned toward the sound. It was late—too late for casual visits.

“Who is it?” I called, my voice steady despite the unease crawling up my spine.

“It’s me,” London’s voice came, low and calm, though I caught the faintest trace of concern beneath his usual composure.

I exhaled, relief loosening the tightness in my chest. “Come in.”

The door creaked open, and London stepped inside, his presence a grounding force in the chaotic swirl of my thoughts. He leaned against the doorframe, his arms crossed over his chest, his dark eyes scanning the room before settling on me.

“You’re not sleeping,” he observed.

I shrugged, turning back to the window. “Neither are you.”

He chuckled softly, the sound low and rough. “Fair point.”

For a moment, neither of us spoke. The silence stretched between us, comfortable and heavy all at once. Finally, he pushed off the doorframe and crossed the room, his movements slow and deliberate.

“What’s going on?” he asked, his tone gentle but insistent.

I hesitated, my fingers brushing the edge of the desk where the note still lay. Part of me wanted to hide it, to pretend everything was fine, but the other part—the part that knew better—knew I couldn’t keep it from him.

Wordlessly, I slid the note across the desk toward him. London picked it up, his brow furrowing as he read.

When he looked up, his expression was unreadable, though his jaw tightened just enough to betray the tension simmering beneath the surface.

“Where did you get this?” he asked.

“It was in my jacket pocket,” I said. “I found it after I came back earlier tonight. I don’t know who put it there or when.”

London’s gaze flicked back to the note, his lips pressing into a thin line. “Someone’s trying to get into your head.”

“Well, congratulations to them. It’s working,” I muttered, the bitterness in my voice surprising even me.

London’s eyes softened as he set the note down. “Don’t let them rattle you, Milli. Whoever this is, they’re playing games. That’s all this is—a game.”

“Games have winners and losers, London,” I said quietly, my gaze fixed on the shadows outside the window. “And I can’t afford to lose. Not now.”

He crouched down beside me, his hand resting lightly on my knee. The warmth of his touch grounded me, pulling me back from the edge of my spiraling thoughts.

“You’re not alone in this,” he said, his voice steady and resolute. “We’re in this together, remember? Whoever’s trying to scare you—they don’t know who they’re messing with. You’re stronger than this. Stronger than them.”

I looked down at him, his face illuminated by the soft glow of the moonlight. There was no hesitation in his gaze, no doubt. He believed in me, even when I struggled to believe in myself.

“Thank you,” I whispered, the words barely audible.

London smiled faintly, the corners of his mouth quirking up in that way that always made my chest feel lighter. “Anytime.”

He stood, his hand lingering on my shoulder for a moment before he turned to leave. But as he reached the door, he paused, his back to me.

“We’ll figure this out, Milli,” he said, his voice firm. “Whoever’s behind this, whatever they’re trying to do—it won’t work. Not as long as we stick together.”

And then he was gone, the door clicking softly shut behind him.

I stared after him for a long moment, his words echoing in my mind. Together. The word felt like a lifeline, a promise I didn’t realize I needed.

Turning back to the window, I let the tension in my shoulders ease just slightly. The shadows outside still loomed, the night still felt heavy with secrets, but for the first time in hours, I didn’t feel completely alone.

Whoever had written that note, whoever thought they could scare me into backing down—they didn’t know me.

I wasn’t going to run. Not this time.