Chapter7

Celestia's POV

My hands were still cupping Lysander's face, but the man I'd been kissing moments ago had vanished.

His eyes were wide and wet with terror.

"I want my mom." The words came out broken. "Please. Where's my mom?"

What the hell is happening?

His hands clawed at his chest. "There was an explosion. So much fire. Mom pushed me down but she didn't get up. Why isn't she getting up?"

I grabbed his wrists before he could hurt himself.

"Lysander, look at me."

But when his gaze locked on mine, there was no recognition. Just a child's desperate confusion.

This isn't him. My chest constricted. Something's very wrong.

"You're okay," I said, forcing my voice steady. "You're safe."

He blinked at me, tears streaming. "Where's my dad? He was covering Mom, but he's not moving."

My throat closed. His parents died in an explosion when he was ten.

And right now, the way he's looking at me, the way his shoulders are hunched and trembling, he's not twenty-eight anymore.

I should call someone. But my body was already moving, pulling him against my chest.

"I've got you," I whispered. "You're safe."

He trembled, then his arms came up, fisting in my shirt. The sobs were raw, desperate, like a child's.

"I'm scared. I don't understand what's happening."

"I know." My hand moved in circles on his back. Just keep him calm.

"How do you know?" The question came out small.

That trust cracked something open in my chest.

"What's your name?" I asked gently.

He stared at me with red-rimmed eyes. "Ly. My mom calls me Ly."

"I'm Cel. And I'm going to take care of you, alright?"

"Promise?"

"I promise. I'm not going anywhere."

The relief on his face hurt to see.

"Ly, how old are you?"

He wiped his nose. "I'm eight. Today's my birthday."

What kind of condition does this? I've never heard of anything like this.

"Happy birthday," I said softly.

His face crumpled. "Mom was making me a cake. Chocolate with strawberries. And Dad promised we'd see fireworks at the hotel."

The hotel. My heart skipped a beat.

"We went to the hotel. It was so fancy." He looked down at his hands, confused by how big they were. "Mom bought me new shoes."

"Then there was this really loud sound. People started screaming." His breathing quickened. "Mom pushed me under a table. She covered me with her body."

My own hands were shaking.

"Dad fell on top of Mom and they weren't moving and I kept calling them." The words tumbled out faster. "And there was a girl crying. She had a pretty dress, but it was all red with blood. I wanted to help but someone grabbed me and I lost my shoe."

My stomach dropped. That girl was me. Fourteen years ago at the Riverside Grand Hotel, when Maxwell dragged me to that gala.

When the explosion tore through the ballroom.

Since then, I've been partially deaf in one ear and rely on a hearing aid every day.

"The girl you saw," I said quietly, my voice shaking. "That was me."

He pulled back, eyes wide. "You?"

"Yes. I was there too. I was eight, just like you."

He took my hand. "Then we can keep each other company."

Something in my chest broke.

We were both there. We survived the same nightmare.

And somehow we'd found each other again.

His eyes filled with tears. "I miss my mom. She made chocolate cake and read me stories." He looked at me desperately. "Do you think she's okay? Maybe they took her to the hospital."

I couldn't tell him the truth. Not when he was already so broken.

"I think your mom loved you very much," I said instead. "And she'd want you to be safe."

He leaned against me, and I held him.

Who is he really? A man who lives in a shabby apartment but wears a Patek Philippe.

Who has a psychological condition so rare I've never even heard of it.

---

My phone buzzed. Dad's name flashed on the screen.

Ly's body tensed. "What's that sound?"

"Someone's calling me. I need to answer but I'm not leaving. You can watch me the whole time."

He nodded, fingers still twisted in my shirt.

"Dad?"

"Cel. It's two in the morning. Where are you? Security said your car is still in the garage."

Ly whimpered. I pulled him closer.

"I'm at a friend's place. She's having a really bad night. I need to stay."

"Which friend? Do you need me to send the family doctor?"

"Mia. Breakup stuff. I've got it handled."

Ly whispered against my neck. "Cel, are you staying?"

My heart cracked. "Yes." Then into the phone, "Dad, Mia needs me. I'll come home tomorrow."

"Cel, if there's any danger..."

"There's no danger. I promise I'm safe. Goodnight, Dad."

I hung up and silenced my phone. "See? I'm still here."

"You didn't leave." Wonder colored his voice.

"I promised I wouldn't." I smoothed his hair back. "Ly, you said your mom was making you a cake?"

He nodded. "Chocolate with strawberries. My favorite. She said we could put candles on it and make a wish."

"What were you going to wish for?"

"I was going to wish for a puppy." His voice got smaller. "But now I just want Mom and Dad back."

My throat tightened. "Tell me about your mom. What was she like?"

"She was really pretty." His eyes brightened slightly. "She used to read me stories every night."

"She said the stars were our ancestors watching over us. That even when people go away, they never really leave." His voice cracked. "Do you think that's true?"

"I think," I said carefully, "that the people who love us stay with us in here." I touched his chest gently.

He thought about this. "So Mom is still with me? Even if I can't see her?"

"Yes. Always."

"We can protect each other now," he said seriously. "Like family."

"Like family," I echoed, and felt tears prick my eyes.

He yawned, his eyelids drooping. "Cel, I'm really tired. But I'm scared to sleep."

"Why are you scared?"

"What if I wake up and you're gone? What if I wake up and Mom and Dad are still..." He couldn't finish.

"Ly, listen to me." I cupped his face gently. "I'm not going anywhere. I'm going to stay right here with you all night. And in the morning, I'll still be here."

"You promise?"

"I promise. And if you don't believe me, you can hold my hand while you sleep."

He considered this, then nodded. "Okay. But can we leave the lights on? I don't like the dark."

We lay down together on the bed. He curled into my side.

"You have kind eyes," he murmured, already half-asleep. "I can tell if someone is good by their eyes."

He fell asleep holding my hand, his face finally peaceful.

I stared at the ceiling, my mind racing.

Tomorrow I need to figure out what's happening to him.

But who is Lysander really?

And why does he live like a poor student when he clearly has connections to one of the biggest companies in the country?

My chest tightened looking at his sleeping face. Nothing like the guarded man I first met.

We were both there fourteen years ago. And somehow, impossibly, we found each other again.

Whatever's broken in him, he doesn't have to face it alone.

I will face it with him.