“JUST TALK to me.”
Lily’s voice was barely louder than the wind slipping through the broken panes of the old greenhouse.
The place smelled like damp earth and rusted iron, the air cold enough that her breath fogged faintly in front of her. Christmas lights from the compound did not reach this far. The greenhouse sat forgotten at the edge of the property, overgrown vines clinging to cracked glass like a secret refusing to die.
Jeremiah stood a few feet away, his silhouette half swallowed by shadow. He did not move toward her. He did not cross the space between them.
“I am talking,” he said quietly.
“You are standing there like you are afraid to breathe.”
He let out a slow exhale. “I am afraid to do a lot of things right now.”
Lily folded her arms around herself, not for warmth. “Then
