Chapter 12 The Space Between Now and Here

Chapter 12 The Space Between Now and Here

(Samarra – Point of View)

I'm standing by the window admiring the rain drops tracking down the glass.

The street outside Juniper and Ink is slick with mist and yellow light, everything softened just enough to feel unreal.

Jesse's car pulls up across the street, low and expensive, like he's trying too hard. He gets out with two of his friends, all leather jackets and bad attitudes, like they planned this look in advance.

He looks up.

Straight at me.

I do not pause to think. I do not weigh consequences. I lift my hand and flip him off.

He freezes like he is genuinely shocked, eyebrows lifting in mock offense. Then he laughs, flips me off right back, and flashes a slow, crooked smile.

I can't help it, I smile too.

Quick and small.

Then I turn away immediately like that never happened and I definitely do not feel anything about it.

Derrick's voice comes from behind me. "Ready?"

I turn as he and Casey step up beside me. Warren waves from behind the counter, apron still on, looking exhausted in the way people do after doing something brave in public.

"Text me," he says.

"I will," I promise. "If I suddenly become a tortured poet, I will credit you."

Casey laughs and tugs Derrick toward the door. I follow, the warmth of the shop fading as the cold mist wraps around us outside.

I take the back seat without thinking. Casey hops into the front passenger seat, still buzzing, still talking. Derrick pulls onto the road, headlights cutting through the fog like we are pushing our way through something thick and unwilling.

The roads are dark and wet. Quiet in a way that feels loaded.

I rest my forehead lightly against the window, watching trees blur past, when something moves.

Small at first. Then growing, keeping pace with the truck.

A shadow peels itself out of the dark and slams into my side of the truck.

Metal shrieks. Casey screams. The impact throws me sideways and I slide down between the seats, hands scrambling, heart detonating in my chest. The necklace at my throat warms instantly, not hot, not painful, just firm and grounding like pressure holding me together.

Derrick swerves hard, then corrects just as fast.

"Stay down," he orders, calm but sharp.

The truck surges forward instead of stopping, engine roaring louder as he accelerates. My pulse is so loud I can barely hear anything else.

"Something hit us," Casey cries. "Something hit us."

"I know," Derrick says evenly. "It's going to be okay."

We speed through the mist, every shadow suddenly suspect, until lights appear ahead. A petrol station. Open. Bright. Human.

Derrick pulls in fast and parks under the canopy, cutting the engine only once we are fully in the light.

Silence crashes down.

My hands are shaking when I push myself upright. The necklace is still warm. Steady. Like it has not finished doing whatever it was doing.

Derrick is out of the truck immediately, circling it, eyes sharp, checking the side panel where something should be broken.

But there's nothing.No dent. No scrape. No sign of impact.

Casey is crying now, hands pressed to her face. "I saw it. I swear I did."

"I believe you," Derrick says, opening her door. "Are you hurt?"

She shakes her head.

He turns to me next, crouching so we are eye level. "Mouse?"

"I'm okay," I say. "Shaken. Deeply annoyed."

That gets a tight breath out of him. Not quite a laugh.

I step out of the truck and look back at the road beyond the lights. The mist rolls on like nothing happened. Like nothing ever does.

Surely there is a logical explanation. A deer? A strong gust of wind blew a branch into us?

But surely those would have left signs of impact, but somehow didn't.

That is the part that makes my stomach twist.

Because something definitely hit us

We drop Casey off first.

She's still shaken, eyes too bright, movements jittery like her body has not caught up with the fact that she is safe. Derrick insists on walking her to the door. I watch from the back seat as he waits until the porch light clicks on and her mother pulls her into a hug that looks like it might crack ribs.

Only then does he come back.

The drive home is quiet.

Not awkward quiet. Not angry quiet.

The kind of quiet where thoughts are loud and no one wants to risk saying the wrong thing.

The road hums beneath the tires. Trees slide past like dark spectators. I stare out the window and pick at the sleeve of my sweater until I finally cave.

"So," I say, carefully casual. "This is going to sound insane."

Derrick does not look at me, but he nods once. "All right."

"My necklace, the one you gave me," I say. "It feels… alive. Not like alive alive. Just… aware. Like it knows when something is wrong and then gives off this warm glow."

The words sound worse out loud.

I wince. "Wow. That sounded deeply unhinged. You can pretend I did not say that."

He is quiet for a beat longer than I expect.

Then, "You felt calmer when it warmed."

I blink. "Yeah."

"Then it does what it's supposed to," he says. No judgment. No teasing. Just certainty. Which leave ten million more questions.

We pull into the driveway not long after.

The house looks the same as always. Dark. Solid. Waiting.

Inside, everything feels suddenly heavier now that the adrenaline has worn off. I kick off my boots and turn to Derrick without thinking, wrapping my arms around him in a big, impulsive hug.

"Thank you," I say into his chest.

He stiffens for half a second.

Then his arms come around me, strong and steady, holding me just a little longer than usual. His heartbeat is slow and even beneath my ear, a rhythm so familiar I find myself syncing my own breathing to it automatically.

Safe.

Eventually he pulls back, hands settling on my shoulders. "Get some sleep," he says gently. "We will talk in the morning."

I nod.

Upstairs, I shower until the water runs lukewarm, brush out my unruly hair, and change into something soft. When I crawl into bed, the necklace rests warm against my skin, quiet again, like it has done its job for the night.

I close my eyes.

And for once, sleep comes without a fight.

\----------------

Derrick p.o.v

Catherine is waiting in the kitchen when I come back downstairs.

She always is. Like a soldier waiting to report at the end of her shift.

A single lamp glows near the sink, soft and low, the rest of the house settled into sleep. The air smells faintly of chamomile and rain. Sam's door is closed at the end of the hall. I pause there longer than I mean to, listening for movement, for breath, for anything that might tell me she is restless again.

"She asleep?" Catherine asks quietly.

"Yes."

The word feels heavier than it should.

I sit at the table slower than usual. My body resists the motion like gravity has shifted against me. Catherine notices immediately like she always does.

"What happened," she says.

Not a question.

"There was an attack," I tell her. "On the road back from the coffee shop."

Her posture sharpens, spine straightening like muscle memory kicking in. "How bad."

"A shadow manifestation. Fast. Unrefined." I press my fingers briefly to my sternum, where the ache still lingers. "It struck the truck. Sam's side."

Catherine swears under her breath. Old language. Old anger.

"The ward held," I continue. "The necklace responded immediately."

Her gaze lifts. "Too immediately."

"Yes."

She exhales slowly. "It drew from you."

"Yes."

"How much."

I hesitate.

That hesitation answers her better than words.

"You did not engage," she says carefully.

"No," I admit. "And if it had required force instead of deflection…"

My jaw tightens. I do not finish the thought.

Catherine folds her arms and paces once before stopping in front of me. "You are running dangerously low, Derrick. I warned you."

"I know."

"If something had followed through," she says. "If it had pressed the attack—"

"I know," I repeat, sharper now. "I would not have been able to protect her."

The words settle between us, ugly and unmovable.

Catherine closes her eyes for a brief moment, grounding herself the way soldiers do when emotion threatens to override reason. "Then we cannot wait any longer."

"No," I agree. "We need to seek out the ruins. Soon."

"The border sites are unstable," she says. "Holy ground is watched."

"I am aware."

"And you are an exile," she adds. "So am I. Stepping that close to Sanctuary carries consequence."

I look down at my hands resting on the table. They are steady.

That does not mean they are strong.

"So does staying here and pretending I can still do this alone," I say quietly. "I cannot."

Silence stretches between us.

Then, softer, Catherine asks, "She felt it, didn't she."

"Yes."

"And she is beginning to ask questions."

"She will," I say. "She is not a child anymore."

Catherine studies me for a long moment. "She was frightened tonight."

"Yes."

"She noticed you were unwell."

"Yes."

"And the girl," Catherine adds gently. "Casey. She is close to Sam now."

I nod once. "She means well."

"That does not always make things safer," Catherine replies.

"No," I say. "But Sam deserves people. Normal ones. Even if it complicates things."

"You cannot keep bleeding yourself dry for her," Catherine says carefully. "and what if this girl gets hurt in the process. This is why we avoid relationships, Derrick."

"I won't let the happen," I answer without hesitation.

She does not argue. She only watches me, eyes sad and knowing.

"That," she says, "is what worries me."

I stand, the effort costing more than I allow to show. "We will plan carefully. We will go when Sam is safe. Distracted."

I nod in agreement.

"Until then, I will endure," I tell her.

She shakes her head slightly. "You always do. Until you can't."

I glance down the hallway again, toward Sam's door. Toward the steady, fragile presence that has shaped every choice I have made for centuries.

"I do not need forever," I say quietly. "I only need enough."

Catherine turns off the kitchen light and joins me in the dark, already thinking ahead, already preparing for what comes next.

Because this time, endurance alone will not be enough.

And we both know it.